98C 


THE  WAY  THAT  LED  BEYOND. 


IWIV.  OF  CALM1.  LIBBABY,  LOS  ANGELES 


THE  WAY  THAT  LED  BEYOND. 


BY  J.    HARRISON, 

Author  of  "Kind  Hearts  and  Coronets." 


NEW  YORK,   CINCINNATI,   CHICAGO: 

BENZIGER     BROTHERS, 


Copyright,  1904,  by  BENZIGER  BROTHERS, 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
CHAPTER    I. 

GOING  "  HOME  " ,       .       »       7 

CHAPTER   II. 
THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  HILL »       »       g       .      18 

CHAPTER  III. 
FOB  His  SAKE ,        .        ,      30 

CHAPTER   IV. 
His  SISTER,  MAGDALEN ...      37 

CHAPTER   V. 
THE  FLOWKB  OF  RESIGNATION    ....»,       (       •.      48 

CHAPTER   VI. 
THE   APPARITION »       .       »       «       .      58 

CHAPTER   VII. 
THE  NEWCOMER i       •       *       *      77 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
PASSED   DANGER *       .       •       *       .      88 

CHAPTER   IX. 
THROUGH  THE  STOBM «       .       .    104 

CHAPTER   X. 
IN  CONFIDENCE    ....  116 


2130134 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

CHAPTER   XI. 
THE  MESSAGB •       »       •       »    126 

CHAPTER  XII. 
NEW  PLANS ,       .    144 

CHAPTER   XIII. 
THE  PASSOTG  OF  DANNY »       ,       .    158 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
THE  BENDING  OF  THE  TBEE »        .        .    168 

CHAPTER   XV. 
THE  BITTEBEST  BLOW  OF  ALL *  176 

• 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE  STRUGGLE ,       .       .    188 

. 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
THE  SAVING  OF  PAMELA  DANBT 202 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
THE  WAY  THAT  LED  BEYOND  315 


THE  WAY  THAT  LED   BEYOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 
GOING  "HOME." 

THE  guard  was  a  stout  man  with  a  red  face,  and  he  had  a  queer 
way  of  puffing  out  his  words,  one  at  a  time.  Had  the  ordinary 
number  of  passengers  crowded  the  cars  there  would  have  been 
the  usual  number  of  comments  on  the  thin,  wheezy  voice  in  such 
a  great  big  body. 

"  Birmingham  next ! "  he  called,  as  the  train  came  to  a  halt 
at  the  little  wayside  station. 

There  were  a  half-dozen  listeners — no  more.  Trains  from 
New  York  to  the  White  Mountains  are  not  crowded  at  Thanks- 
giving time.  Suddenly  the  guard,  busy  with  the  lights,  dropped 
them,  bending  over  to  assist  a  slim  young  lady  to  climb  up 
the  steps  that  led  to  the  platform.  Perhaps  this  civility  was  due, 
in  great  part,  to  the  fact  that  the  light  from  those  same  lanterns 
had  fallen  on  a  witching  pair  of  blue  eyes,  raised  to  his  con- 
fidingly before  she  placed  her  foot  on  the  step.  Entering  the 
car,  she  sat  down  near  the  door,  putting  a  leather  dressing-case 
•he  carried  on  the  seat  beside  her,  and  throwing  a  costly  fur  muff 
on  top  of  it. 

"  This  is  much  nicer/'  she  said,  musingly.  "  More  secluded. 
Wonder  what  Dick  will  say  when  he  gets  that  telegram?  That 
one  woman  knows  how  to  keep  her  word,  I  suppose ! "  She 

7 


8  GOING    "HOME." 

laughed.  "Traveling  is  so  monotonous,  and  so  tiresome — when 
one  travels  alone/' 

She  did  not  look  at  all  tired  as  she  removed  the  small  fur 
toque  from  her  head,  and  arranged  her  blonde  hair.  That  done, 
she  glanced  about  her  with  a  little  shiver.  There  was  no  one 
near  her.  The  guard  put  his  head  in,  curiously — he  seldom  saw 
so  charming  a  picture,  even  though,  in  the  busy  season,  he  met 
many  pretty  women.  And  this  guard  had  an  eye  for  beauty. 
Phyllis  beckoned  to  him. 

"We  won't  have  to  wait  here  very  long?"  she  asked. 

The  girl  was  a  coquette.  The  red-faced  man  flushed  a  deeper 
red  at  the  uncalled-for  sweetness  of  tone,  the  lingering  glance  of 
blue,  the  smile  that  parted  the  young  lips. 

"  Ten  minutes  here — an  express  passes  us.  Have  you  your 
ticket  ?  Segrovia — that  is  the  last  stop.  It  will  be  two  hours  and 
a  half—5' 

"  Two  hours  and  a  half  longer  ?  "  Phyllis  frowned  and  tapped 
her  foot.  Then  she  took  the  ticket  from  his  fingers  and  smiled 
again. 

"Thank  you." 

A  little  embarrassed,  not  so  much  at  the  courteous  tone  as  at 
the  irresistible  glance  that  accompanied  it,  he  walked  toward  the 
door.  She  settled  herself  more  comfortably,  wriggling  around  in 
her  seat,  and  using  her  muff  as  a  sort  of  support  at  the  back  to 
make  her  position  easier.  She  looked  very  childish  and  very 
beautiful,  the  collar  of  the  fur  jacket  she  wore  clinging  close  to 
the  delicate  roundness  of  throat  and  cheek. 

"  Dear  me,"  she  mused,  "  in  two  hours  and  a  half  I  shall 
be  at  the  back  of  nowhere — with  my  aunt,  the  Honorable  Mrs. 
Browne.  Mary  Browne,  relict  of  the  late  Thomas  John  Browne ! 


GOING   "HOME."  9 

What  a  truly  inspiring  name!  Countrified?  I  can  see  her — 
long  curls,  nose  glasses,  thin  lips  and  all.  I  shall  be  expected  to 
call  her  Aunt  Mary,  I  suppose.  Aunt  Mary!  Well,  she'll  see." 

There  was  something  besides  childishness  in  the  glittering  blue 
eyes  now,  and  the  red  lips  hardened  rebelliously.  Then  as  she 
turned  her  head  to  the  window,  a  slight  rustle  of  skirts  attracted 
her  attention.  As  if  framed  within  the  door  a  tall  figure  in  black 
stood  for  an  instant.  The  newcomer  glanced  up  and  down  the 
car  rapidly,  not  seeing  the  fair-haired  girl  at  first,  and  then  when 
she  did,  drawing  back  with  an  involuntary  movement  of  dis- 
pleasure. Quickly  recovering  herself,  however,  she  advanced 
down  the  aisle,  putting  her  small  hand-satchel  into  the  rack 
above  her  head,  and  then  seated  herself  with  the  easy  composure 
and  that  lack  of  restlessness  which  show  the  experienced  traveler. 

Phyllis  Gordon,  as  we  may  as  well  begin  to  call  her,  had  not 
misunderstood  that  first  expression,  and  she  resented  it,  glancing 
at  the  girl  haughtily  as  she  sat  down,  measuring  her  as  strangers 
do  when  chance  brushes  one  against  the  other.  The  train  started. 
Dusk  had  settled  on  the  surrounding  country — there  was  no  light 
to  see  the  wide,  level  fields  through  which  they  passed.  Here 
and  there  the  faint  outline  of  a  house  appeared.  The  distant 
mountains  approached  nearer  and  ever  nearer,  until  at  last  it 
seemed  to  Phyllis  that  they  were  cutting  right  through  them. 
She  put  her  cheek  to  the  cold  pane  and  gave  herself  up  to  thought. 
In  a  moment  she  was  far  away — back  in  a  scene  of  delight.  She 
stood  before  her  mirror,  dressed  in  a  simple  little  gown  that  made 
her  doubly  beautiful  she  knew,  with  his  roses  in  her  hair  and  at 
her  belt.  She  was  down  in  the  long  and  brilliant  drawing-room, 
with  his  hand  holding  her  fan  and  his  eyes  looking  into  hers  with 
his  heart  in  them.  What  a  night  that  was — what  a  glorious  night ! 


10  QOINQ   "HOME." 

Yet  with  all  its  sweetness  the  memory  must  have  been  sad,  for 
after  a  while  the  tears  gathered  heavily  on  her  lashes  and  found 
their  way  to  her  cheeks.  Feeling  them,  she  put  up  her  handker- 
chief hurriedly,  glancing  at  her  companion  to  see  if  she  had 
noticed.  But  the  other's  eyes  were  averted— even  as  Phyllis'  own 
had  been,  staring  fixedly  out  of  the  window,  while  her  hands  rested 
lightly  and  idly  in  her  lap.  She  had  removed  her  hat  as  if  ita 
weight  hurt  her  and  had  not  replaced  it.  And  Phyllis,  after 
that  first  stolen  glance,  could  not  take  her  gaze  away.  The  profile 
was  so  calm,  so  quiet,  the  black  lashes  so  immovable.  It  was 
strange  to  see  such  repose  in  a  woman,  especially  in  this  land  of 
nervous,  unquiet  women.  The  well-developed  figure  was  clad  in 
a  gown  of  black  cloth  trimmed  with  a  narrow  edging  of  fur,  and 
from  her  throat,  suspended  by  a  fine  gold  chain,  hung  a  diamond 
cross.  Her  breath  did  not  stir  it — it  seemed  part  of  her  in  the 
strange  repose  that  seemed  to  enwrap  her  from  head  to  foot.  The 
hands  lying  so  quiet  and  still  fairly  shone  in  their  delicacy.  How 
old  was  she,  wondered  Phyllis — a  woman's  first  wonder  when 
another  woman  seems  to  have  passed  into  the  years  of  discretion 
(which  for  some  are  twenty,  and  which  others  do  not  reach  ten 
years  after  twenty).  So  that  this  quiet  creature  might  be  anywhere 
between  the  two.  Where  did  she  come  from?  Was  she  maid  or 
wife  or  widow  ?  For  whom  was  she  in  mourning — and  if  she  were 
in  mourning,  went  on  Phyllis,  with  the  fashionable  leaning  toward 
ultraism,  why  did  she  wear  that  diamond  cross  so  conspicuously? 
And  as  she  gazed,  in  addition  to  the  wonder,  great  admiration 
grew  upon  her,  so  that  when,  almost  compelled  by  that  steady 
scrutiny,  the  dark-haired  stranger  turned  her  head,  Phyllis  could 
not  bear  to  drop  her  eyes,  but  kept  on  staring — until  suddenly 
she  recollected  the  rudeness  of  it.  Perhaps  it  was  the  sorrow  in 


GOING   "HOME."  11 

the  deep  eyes  that  brought  Phyllis  to  herself.  She  begged  her 
pardon  quickly  then,  and  had  the  grace  to  blush. 

The  lids  drooped  wearily — nor  would  she  seem  to  acknowledge 
Phyllis'  softly  spoken  words  even  by  this.  It  appeared  almost 
as  if  the  outside  world  were  immaterial — beyond  her  care  or  her 
attention.  Phyllis  felt  shut  out,  ignored.  It  was  a  new  sensation. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  when  we  will  arrive  at  Segrovia  ? "  she 
ventured,  timidly.  "I  am  traveling  through  here  for  the  first 
time  and  I  assure  you  that  I  am  quite  at  sea." 

The  stranger  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  the  girl  a  full 
second  before  answering.  Then  in  a  clear,  distinct  voice  she 
made  answer : 

"Two  hours,  now,  I  believe.  I,  also,  am  traveling  this  way 
for  the  first  time." 

"  You  are  going  to  Segrovia  ?  "  questioned  Phyllis,  eagerly. 

Again  the  stranger  hesitated — something  like  a  sigh  passing 
her  lips.  Perhaps  it  was  the  childishness  of  the  young  face  near 
her  that  turned  the  sigh  into  a  faint  smile,  freeing  it  from  the 
resentment  that  stirred  her  at  being  drawn  into  an  unwelcome 
conversation.  She  murmured: 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  dreary,  dreadful,  awful  place  in  winter,"  said 
Phyllis. 

"  It  is  not  your  home,  then  ?  "  the  stranger  asked,  softly,  let- 
ting her  eyes  seek  the  darkness  beyond  the  window-pane.  Phyllis 
leaned  forward.  There  was  something  so  musical  in  the  intona- 
tion— the  word  "  home  "  lingered  so  lovingly  upon  her  tongue. 

"  God  forbid !  "  said  Phyllis,  then.  "  New  York  City  is  my 
birthplace.  Oh — but  that  is  too  good  to  be  true ! — you  may  be  a 
New  Yorker?" 


12  GOING   "HOME." 

Again  that  faint,  tremulous  smile. 

"  It  is  too  good  to  be  true,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I  was  born 
in  Italy." 

"  An  artist ! "  thought  Phyllis.  "  I  might  have  known  that." 
Then,  aloud :  "  You  were  born  in  Italy  and  speak  English  so  per- 
fectly?" 

"  I  am  an  Italian  by  birth  only." 

"  Oh !    Your  people  are  English,  then?  " 

The  curiosity,  the  unfeigned  interest,  were  amusing. 

"  No,"  smiling.  "  My  parents  were  Americans.  My  father 
was  born  in  Segrovia — where  I  am  going.  I  am  going  home !  " 

Was  it  fancy,  or  did  a  deeper  note  come  to  the  full  throat,  a 
brighter  gleam  to  the  somber  eyes  ?  Did  the  dark  head  curve  itself 
raddenly,  as  if  the  heart  of  the  woman  had  grown  lighter  and 
more  daring  and  more  courageous? 

"Going  home!"  laughed  Phyllis.  "To  Segrovia— to  that 
forsaken  place?  No,  no,  not  after  Italy — not  after  the  blue 
Italian  skies  that  you  have  known !  You  will  not  stay." 

"  Every  land  has  its  attractions." 

"  Maybe,"  said  the  girl,  wisely.  "  I  believe  the  attractions  of 
this  beautiful  country  consist  in  four  or  five  inhabitants — on  whom 
one  can  call,  I  mean — the  rest  do  not  count ;  endless  snow,  great 
blizzards,  bitter  cold.  Do  you  think  you  could  stand  all  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  will  to  do  so,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Your  will  ?  "  and  now  it  was  Phyllis*  turn  to  look  upon  her 
vis-a-vis  with  an  affectation  of  superiority.  "  You  think  you  can 
do  what  you  wish — just  because  you  will  to  do  so  ?  "  She  laughed 
softly.  "  There  must  be  some  other  attraction." 

The  stranger  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  gentle  impatience. 

"  I  do  not  know  a  soul  there,"  she  said.    "  Not  a  soul.    But  I 


GOING   "HOME."  18 

will  stay  there,  and  I  will  live  there,  and  I  will  be  happy  there, 
because  my  father  lived  there  and  was  happy,  happy.  I,  too,  would 
be  happy — and  content,'*  she  repeated,  under  her  breath. 

"  But  who  will  buy  your  pictures  ? "  asked  Phyllis,  sagely. 
"  You  can  scarcely  expect  to  find  art-lovers  among  the  four  or 
five  acceptable  inhabitants.  I  daresay  if  they  ever  loved  art  they 
have  outgrown  so  obsolete  a  characteristic — for  Segrovia — by  this 
time." 

"  Art-lovers  ?    Pictures  ?  "  echoed  the  stranger. 

"  Surely  you're  an  artist  ?  " 

The  stranger  laughed  outright. 

"  No,"  she  said.    "  I  am  not  an  artist." 

Phyllis'  beautiful  face  lighted  up  enthusiastically. 

"  An — actress,  maybe  ?  "  she  said. 

For  a  moment  the  natural  whiteness  of  the  stranger's  face 
seemed  ghastly. 

"  I  am  not  an  actress,"  she  responded,  quietly.  "  Although  I 
have  been  called  so." 

"  I  should  have  taken  you  for  something  of  that  sort,"  in- 
sisted Phyllis. 

"I  am  nothing — of  that  sort."  Again  the  stranger's  eyes 
sought  the  darkness,  as  if  seeking  rest  there.  "  I  have  been — a 
musician." 

There  was  silence.  Even  Phyllis,  curious  as  she  was  concern- 
ing this  enigmatical  being,  could  see  that  she  did  not  care  to 
converse  with  her.  The  stranger  roused  herself  at  last. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  apologetically.  "  But  I  am 
apt  to  lose  a  thread  of  speech  in  the  labyrinth  of  my  thoughts. 
You  were  saying —  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  returned  Phyllis.    "But  you  said  that  you  had 


14  GOING   "HOME." 

been  a  musician.  And  I — you  will  pardon  me  for  my  frankness  ? 
Surely  you  can  not  have  been  a  musician  without  being  one  now." 

"  I  have  given  it  up." 

"Because — it  does  not  pay?" 

"  What  a  sordid  question  for  one  so  young  in  years ! "  said 
the  stranger,  evasively. 

"  A  sordid  question !  "  and  Phyllis'  lips  tightened.  "  Sordid  ?  " 
she  repeated.  "  If  you  knew — or  do  you  know  ? — how  fate  schools 
orphaned  children  who  are  heirs  to  naught  but  healthy  mother- 
wit,  so  that  they  may  find  a  way  in  the  world,  and  finding,  scheme 
to  fill  it  and  to  hold  it.  I  am  young  in  years — I  am  young  of 
face — but  my  heart  is  old.  My  feelings  will  never  run  away  with 
me,  for  my  brain  is  the  dominant  power.  Believe  me,  I  shall 
manage  exceedingly  well.  If  you  do  not  care  to  tell  me  about 
your  music,"  she  went  on,  her  manner  changing  abruptly,  "do 
not  do  so.  I  am  interested,  really,  but  that  doesn't  matter." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  stranger.  There  was  an  expression  akin  to 
pity  on  her  face  as  she  looked  straight  into  the  young  girl's  eyes. 
"I  have  played  since  my  babyhood,  almost.  With  my  only 
brother.  We  traveled  all  over  the  world  together.  He  has  been 
dead  a  year.  ...  I  have  not  appeared  in  public — since." 

"  You  must  surely  love  it." 

"Unspeakably.  But  my  brother —  He  was  my  twin  soul. 
.  .  .  Since  he  went  away —  I  love  it,  but  it  saddens  me.  The 
joy  of  it  is  not  for  me.  The  joy  of  it  tells  me — I  am — alone ! " 

Phyllis  was  silent.  The  words,  dreamy,  incoherent,  broken, 
were  not  meant  for  her  ears.  They  were  forced  through  the  sem- 
blance of  outward  calm  by  powerful  emotion. 

"  I  gave  up  the  best  part  of  me,"  said  the  stranger.  "  But  ii 
is  my  will." 


GOING   "HOME,"  15 

"  Our  characters  are  somewhat  alike,  then,"  said  Phyllis, 
more  to  break  in  upon  the  painful  thoughts  that  she  could  see 
were  beginning  to  absorb  her  companion.  "  But  what  in  all  the 
world  will  such  a  woman  as  you  do — at  Segrovia  ?  " 

"  Learn  to  work." 

"  Learn  to  work !  "  Phyllis  brought  her  hands  together.  "  You 
travel  from  Italy — you,  a  musician  and  a  clever  woman — to  Segro- 
via to  learn  to  work !  Why  not  remain  in  the  city,  the  great,  big, 
wide,  beautiful  city — where  you  will  have  a  chance  to  attain 
some  position — " 

There  was  a  sudden  grinding  of  the  wheels — a  sudden  stop- 
page of  motion  that  sent  a  shock  through  the  cars,  and  almost 
threw  Phyllis  from  her  seat.  The  words  died  on  her  lips.  She 
clutched  at  the  framework  of  the  window,  and  her  face  grew  pale. 
The  stranger's  features  did  not  change  their  expression.  She 
still  looked  at  Phyllis  inquiringly. 

"  There  is  something  the  matter,"  said  Phyllis. 

"Perhaps  not.  This  is  a  bad  time  of  the  year  to  travel  in 
these  mountainous  districts." 

There  were  voices  of  men  along  the  tracks,  and  lanterns  swing- 
ing rapidly  from  side  to  side.  This  went  on  for  about  ten  minutes. 
The  few  passengers  who  occupied  the  other  end  of  the  car  glanced 
up  sleepily,  and  dozed  off  again.  The  red-faced  guail  came 
through.  Phyllis  hailed  him. 

"  This  is  not  Segrovia  ?  "  she  called. 

"  No,  miss,"  he  said.    He  lingered  beside  them. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  stranger,  very  quietly.  "  Snow- 
bound? Derailed?  Some  impediment  on  the  tracks?" 

He  looked  at  her,  surprised  at  the  quiet  voice. 

"  Owing  to  the  snow  the  engineer  was  going  easy — it's  but  a 


16  GOING    "HOME." 

crawl  up-hill  from  this  to  Segrovia,"  said  the  man.  "He  saw 
the  boulder  just  in  time.  A  massive  thing — over  half  a  ton.  It 
must  have  been  an  avalanche  brought  that  down  the  embankment. 
If  we  were  thrown  off  the  track  here  it  would  have  been  a  clear 
fall  to  the  ravine." 

"  Very  far  below  ?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

The  guard  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Two  hundred  feet  at  least." 

"  A  narrow  escape.  Thank  God,"  said  the  girl,  involuntarily. 
"  Will  we  be  detained  long  ?  " 

"  An  hour  at  least." 

"  That  means  two  hours,"  said  Phyllis,  petulantly.  "  We 
won't  get  to  Segrovia  until  long  after  dark." 

The  stout  conductor  looked  at  her  in  surprise — then  walked 
away  toward  the  other  occupants  of  the  car. 

"  That  is  a  bad  habit,"  said  the  stranger. 

"What?"  asked  Phyllis. 

"  Grumbling  at  trifles.  How  long  do  you  think  you  would 
have  been  detained  had  we  gone  over  into  the  ravine  ?  " 

Phyllis  shuddered. 

"  I  did  not  think  of  that.  It  is  a  shame.  I  can't  for  the  life 
of  me  see  why  railroad  companies  don't  guard  their  tracks — " 

"  Oh,  hush,"  said  the  stranger,  contemptuously.  "  Say  a 
prayer  of  thankfulness  that  God  has  preserved  your  life.  Or  at 
least  be  silent  until  I  say  one." 

Phyllis  did  not  resent  the  tone — it  made  her  ashamed,  rather. 
Presently,  when  the  stranger  turned  her  face  upon  her  again,  she 
met  the  penitent  blue  eyes  more  kindly. 

"Let  us  go  outside — it  is  not  cold,  and  we  have  been  sitting 
still  so  long." 


GOING   "SOME."  IT 

"Yes,"  said  Phyllis.  " I  shall  be  glad  to."  They  found  the 
conductor  passing.  He  helped  them  to  the  ground  and  advised 
them  not  to  walk  very  far,  as  they  did  not  know  that  section  of 
the  country  and  it  was  late  for  two  women  to  venture  anywhere. 
The  stranger  did  not  reply,  but  Phyllis,  grown  meek,  thanked 
him. 

"  There  is  a  house  on  the  top  of  that  hill,"  said  the  stranger, 
suddenly.  She  spoke  in  a  louder  tone,  and  addressed  the  man. 
"  It  is  not  far — do  you  think  we  might  venture  that  ?  " 

The  man  turned  to  look. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said.    "  You  can  make  that  in  five  minutes." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  go  there  ?  "  asked  Phyllis. 

"  Because  I  can  not  even  walk  aimlessly,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
must  have  an  objective  point.  My  intention  now  is  to  go  to  that 
house  on  the  hill,  the  house  with  the  light  in  the  window.  Then 
I  shall  have  the  train  to  reach  from  there.  You  still  care  to 
come?" 

"Anywhere,"  said  Phyllis.  Then  she  smiled,  her  natural, 
careless  mood  restored.  "  Though  I  would  not  want  to  take  a 
five  minutes'  walk  so  seriously  as  you." 


18  THE   HOUSE    ON    THE   HILL. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  HILL. 

"I  HAVE  read  somewhere  of  the  valley  of  the  shadow,"  said 
Phyllis,  suddenly.  "  This  is  all  shadow — I  wonder  if  the  light 
of  the  moon  ever  reaches  here?" 

"It  does,  it  must,"  said  her  companion.  "If  we  could  but 
wait  to  see  it  when  the  glory  of  the  moonlight  fills  it !  But  we 
shall  be  far  away  then." 

"  And  to  us  it  will  only  be  the  valley  of  the  shadow/'  said 
Phyllis.  The  youth  seemed  to  have  left  her  face — it  was  cold; 
one  could  hardly  read  the  expression  of  the  clear  blue  eyes,  the 
tightly-closed  lips.  The  stranger  did  not  care  just  then  to  be 
observant.  Their  feet  crunched  on  the  frozen  path,  and  with 
the  swift  steps  of  perfect  health  and  youth  and  strength  they 
swung  along  under  the  stripped  branches  of  the  trees,  swaying 
slowly  with  their  ghostly  arms  in  the  still,  cold  air.  The  path 
was  well-defined — for  the  snow  that  covered  it  stretched  white 
and  crystallized  before  them. 

"  We  shall  soon  reach  our  objective  point,"  said  Phyllis,  with 
a  laugh.  "  It  is  coming  nearer.  But  we  have  walked  more  than 
five  minutes." 

"  About  eight — it  will  be  ten  by  the  time  we  reach  it — and  it 
will  take  ten  to  go  back.  What  a  peculiar  light  that  is  shining 
from  the  window.  Perhaps — " 

"  I  should  love  to  see  who  could  occupy  such  a  lonely  dwelling- 
house,"  said  Phyllis,  eagerly.  "  I  am  going  to  ring." 


THE  HOUSE   ON   THE   HILL.  19 

"  And  when  they  open — " 

"I  shall  ask  for  a  drink  of  water.  Here  we  are — will  you 
come  with  me  ?  " 

She  could  find  no  bell,  but  discovered  a  big  knocker,  and 
struck  it  several  times.  There  was  no  answer. 

"Yet  some  one  lives  here,"  said  Phyllis,  in  a  vexed  tone. 
"  There  surely  must  be  some  one.  Wait — I'll  find  a  chink  in  the 
curtain." 

Half-smiling,  the  stranger  followed  the  girl  to  where  the  light 
streamed  out  across  the  road  down  into  the  valley  like  a  star. 
Phyllis,  peeping  through  the  window,  brought  her  hands  together 
with  a  little  exclamation  of  triumph. 

"  Look,  look !  "  she  said.    "  Isn't  that  a  wonderful  sight  ?  " 

A  man  was  sitting  at  a  table  in  the  center  of  the  room.  His 
book  lay  open  before  him — he  had  evidently  fallen  asleep  while 
reading  it.  He  was  in  evening  attire,  and  the  lamp,  shaded  by  a 
green  globe,  giving  the  peculiar  effect  of  light  the  stranger  had 
noticed,  rested  in  such  a  position  that  its  rays  fell  on  a  handsome, 
fair  face — the  face  of  a  gentleman. 

"  A  treasure-trove  in  the  wilderness !  "  cried  Phyllis,  delighted 
beyond  measure.  "Who  ever,  ever,  ever  could  think  of  finding 
this  in  the  house  on  the  hill  ?  " 

Smiling  at  her  childish  excitement,  the  dark-eyed  stranger 
bent  to  look.  The  next  moment  she  seized  Phyllis'  arm  in  a  grip 
of  iron. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  shook.  "  In  the  name  of  God, 
girl,  come  away." 

«  What—" 

"Nothing,  nothing,  nothing,"  said  the  stranger.  "Hush, 
hush — not  a  breath.  He  will  hear  you,  and  sooner —  The  house 


30  THE   HOUSE   ON   THE  HILL. 

on  the  hill,  the  house  on  the  hill !  Oh,  what  brought  me  here—- 
what evil  fate  tempted  me  to  come  this  way ! " 

Bewildered,  dazed,  almost  frightened,  Phyllis  allowed  herself 
to  be  dragged  by  that  stranger-hand  out  into  the  road  again  and 
down  once  more  into  the  snow-encrusted  valley.  Excitement 
seemed  to  lend  wings  to  the  other's  feet.  Phyllis  caught  her 
breath. 

"  I — can  not — walk — so— quickly,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  Poor  little  thing !  "  The  stranger  moderated  her  steps  im- 
mediately. "I  had  forgotten  you." 

Her  brows  were  curved,  her  eyes  shining  with  a  strange  light. 
Phyllis  was  afraid  of  her — afraid  of  the  silence  and  the  mystery. 

"  I  would  not  want  to  live  here — this  is  so  lonely,  so  quiet.  I 
could  not  stand  being  alone,"  she  said,  after  a  moment.  "I 
wish  I  had  not  called  this  the  valley  of  the  shadow — it  seems  like 
a  foreboding." 

"  I  mounted  it  to  my  Calvary,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  bitter 
tone.  "  I  put  away  my  cross — and  lo !  my  cross  has  come  to  me. 
Oh,  child,  if  it  is  true  that  death  only  comes  with  terror  to  those 
who  travel  the  paths  of  life  easily — but  to  those  who  must  strive 
ever  on  that  steep  hill,  he  comes  like  a  gentle  angel  to  touch  the 
brow  with  happiness !  Come  to  me !  "  She  threw  her  arms  out 
suddenly  and  stood  still.  "  God,  if  it  is  Thy  will,  let  the  death 
angel  come  now — come  soon." 

The  passion  in  the  low  voice  startled  Phyllis.  They  were 
almost  at  the  train — and  as  if  impelled  by  an  involuntary  move- 
ment, both  turned  to  look  up  at  the  house  with  its  light  shining 
out  on  the  path  beyond.  And  then  the  stranger  spoke,  more 
quietly. 

"  God's  will  be  done." 


THE   HOUSE   ON   THE   HILL.  31 

The  guard  came  up  to  them. 

"  We  start  immediately,  ladies,"  he  said.  "  Everything  is  all 
right,  now/' 

Neither  answered — both  were  thinking  too  deeply.  Once  more 
Phyllis  felt  her  arm  clutched  in  that  tight  grasp,  and  then,  fol- 
lowing her  companion's  glance,  she  saw  that  the  light  had  been 
extinguished.  The  next  moment  they  were  back  in  the  train,  and 
the  wheels  began  to  move;  very  slowly  at  first — then  with  in- 
creasing speed.  Phyllis  gazed  curiously  at  her  companion.  The 
quiet  of  the  white  face  seemed  undisturbed — but  there  were  black 
shadows  under  the  eyes,  that  had  not  been  present  when  they 
left  the  car  twenty  minutes  before. 

*  *  *  *  * 

They  had  not  exchanged  a  word  for  a  full  half -hour.  Gradu- 
ally the  stranger  recovered  her  calmness  of  demeanor.  Phyllis, 
feeling  that  she  had  been  on  the  verge  of  a  mystery,  and  inwardly 
consumed  with  curiosity,  still  did  not  dare  to  venture  a  question. 
The  other  must  speak,  some  time,  and  she  would  take  the  cue 
from  her. 

The  other  did  speak.     She  turned  to  her,  smiling  naturally. 

"  When  we  were  interrupted  by  the  delay/'  she  said,  "  you 
mentioned  New  York.  The  great,  big,  wide,  beautiful  city  of 
New  York — where  one  has  a  chance  to  attain  position — " 

Phyllis  stared  at  her,  open-mouthed. 

"  How  can  you  remember  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  a  splendid  memory." 

"Yes/'  said  Phyllis,  slowly.  She  waited  a  few  moments, 
looking  at  the  stranger  with  critical  eyes.  "  You  said,  I  believe, 
that  you  were  going  to  Segrovia  to  learn  to  work  ?  "  And  then 
in  a  tone  of  utter  contempt,  "  Work !  " 


22  THE   HOUSE   ON    THE   HILL. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  the  stranger.  "  I  am  not  seeking  posi- 
tion. At  Segrovia  live  my  father's  two  sisters — my  only  living 
relatives.  I  never  needed  them  before." 

"  And  you  need  them — now  ?  "  asked  Phyllis,  incredulously. 
"  No." 

"  My  brother  was  everything  to  me — father,  brother,  mother, 
confidant,  friend — I  can  not  stay  out  in  the  world  without  him. 
It  is  too  full  of  bitter  experiences." 

"  I  know,"  said  Phyllis,  and  her  tone  was  very  soft,  and  her 
blue  eyes  dim  with  tears.  "  It  is  full  of  bitter  experiences." 

Her  voice  touched  a  chord  of  sympathy. 

"I  must  have  something  to  hold  on  to,"  continued  the 
stranger,  in  the  dreamy  tone  that  struck  so  pleasantly  on  Phyllis' 
listening  ears.  "  I  want  to  feel  that  I  belong  to  some  one — and 
that  some  one  belongs  to  me.  I  am  only  a  lonely  woman  on  a 
lonely  earth,  and  I  can  not  bear  it.  It  was  a  wicked  atmosphere 
— that  into  which  my  art  would  have  led  me.  My  pride  bade  me 
brave  it,  dare  it,  but  my  soul  was  sick.  I  could  not  stand  the 
society  of  those  who  listened  to  me  to-day  with  simulated  rapture, 
and  to-morrow  slandered  me,  with  cruel,  cruel  tongues.  But  what 
can  a  child  like  you  know  of  such  meanness  and  such  malice  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  know  ?  "  echoed  Phyllis,  with  a  discordant  laugh. 
"  Much.  You  seek  your  relatives  to  avoid  meanness  and  malice  ? 
My  relatives  bestow  both  upon  me  in  plenty.  Your  art  has  been 
all  in  all  to  you.  I  have  had  no  art  but  the  study  of  human  nature 
to  fit  my  purpose  in  life.  Perhaps  at  Segrovia  I  shall  have  a 
chance  to  prove  it  to  you ! "  Tears  were  standing  in  her  eyee. 

"  We  are  acquainted,  now,"  said  the  stranger,  gently.  "  And, 
since  our  destination  is  the  same,  likely  to  know  more  of  each 
other.  What  is  your  name?" 


THE   HOUSE   ON   THE   HILL.  83 

"Phyllis  Gordon." 

"  Gordon  ?    There  is  a  Mrs.  Edward  Gordon  in  New  York — " 

"  My  Aunt  Isabel — yes." 

"Your  aunt?  Is  that  so?  I  have  met  Mrs.  Gordon  on  one 
or  two  occasions."  Her  face  darkened.  "  My  name  is  Xaviera 
Pomeroy." 

"  Xaviera — what  a  queer  given  name !  I  have  never  heard  it 
before." 

"  My  father  was  Francis  Xavier — I  am  called  after  him — as 
near  as  he  could  get  to  it  in  the  feminine,  I  suppose.  li;  is  an 
odd  name." 

"  It  suits  you,"  said  Phyllis,  gently.  "  And  it  is  very  pretty. 
But  it  has  such  a  Catholic  sound." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Xaviera  Pomeroy,  proudly.  "  Before  everything 
else  I  am  a  Catholic." 

Phyllis  gazed  at  her  curiously. 

"  Eeally  ?  I  have  never  known  any  Catholics  that  I  can  re- 
member. You  intend  to  stay  at  Segrovia  ?  " 

The  dark  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"I  am  sent  to  stay  for  one  year,  in  banishment.  I  intend, 
however,  to  make  that  banishment  as  gay  as  possible,"  said 
Phyllis.  "  May  I  count  on  you  to  help  me  ?  " 

"  We  shall  meet,  I  daresay,"  said  Miss  Pomeroy,  in  an  evasive 
tone. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  interest  you  to  hear  why  I  am  sent  away  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  would.    I  am  much  interested." 

"  You  are  kind.  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Gordon,  brought  me  up — she 
is  my  Uncle  Edward's  wife.  I  am  poor,  poor  as  a  church  mouse. 
I  have  nothing — and  I  was  educated  with  my  two  cousins,  Lilian 
and  Sylvia,  You  know  them,  perhaps?  They  are  a  trifle  older 


24  THE   HOUSE    ON    THE   HILL. 

than  I — and  not  quite  as  pretty."  She  smiled  maliciously. 
Xaviera  Pomeroy  suddenly  remembered  the  Gordon  girls — who 
were  decidedly  unattractive.  And  worse.  They  were  more  de- 
cidedly ill-natured.  She  felt  sorry  for  Phyllis. 

"  Aunt  Isabel  could  not  take  my  gifts  away  from  me,  nor  my 
pretty  face,  nor  my  grace.  After  a  while  I  found  place  in  so- 
ciety." 

"And  then?" 

"  Then  began  my  term  of  misery.  I  never  did  anything  right, 
I  was  too  modest,  or  I  was  too  bold.  I  talked  too  much,  or  I 
talked  too  little.  When  a  man  wished  to  marry  me  I  could  not 
make  myself  wish  to  marry  him.  That  was  my  crowning  sin. 
But  not  even  to  escape  Aunt  Isabel's  tyranny  could  I  marry  the 
objects  presented  for  my  approval.  Ugh ! "  and  the  girl  shud- 
dered. 

Xaviera  smiled. 

"  There  was,  perhaps,  a  favored  gallant  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  least  little  tinge  of  pink  crept  across  Phyllis'  round  face. 
"Maybe — but  he  is  like  the  rest.  A  maiden  may  be  fair,  but 

"  What  care  I  how  fair  she  be, 
If  her  purse  is  not  lined  with  gold  for  mef 

paraphrased  the  red  lips,  scornfully.  "  Things  became  desperate 
after  a  while.  That's  why  you  find  me  here.  Aunt  Isabel  cor- 
responded with  this  other  aunt,  her  sister-in-law,  after  whom  I 
am  named — my  name  is  Mary  Felicitas.  This  is  the  consequence. 
Banished  from  all  that  makes  life  desirable — for  one  whole  year ! 
Think  of  that."  The  girl's  eyes  flashed.  "  She  wears  corkscrew 
curls — I've  seen  her  picture.  And  glasses!  And  she  looks  like 
an  old  maid !  And  she  hates  singing.  She  detests  music.  She 


THE    HOUSE    ON    THE    HILL.  36 

can  not  bear  curly  hair  like  mine.  Because  it's  natural,  I  sup- 
pose. And  what  is  worse — " 

"  What  is  worse—" 

"  There  is  some  sort  of  a  wretched  practitioner  located  at 
Segrovia — first  for  his  health  and  now  for  the  practice  he  has 
built  up  in  that  and  surrounding  towns  this  last  ten  years. 
Think  of  it.  And  he's  to  be  mine — Aunt  Mary  says  so.  Think  of 
it!" 

"  But  how  did  you  find  out  all  this  ?  " 

"  Umph !  Aunt  Isabel  was  none  too  careful — and  that  corre- 
spondence beyond  all  the  scruples  of  politest  society — " 

Xaviera  shook  her  head  disapprovingly. 

"  You  read  the  letters  ?  What  in  the  world  prompted  you  to 
come  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Phyllis  Gordon,  and  her  lips 
quivered.  "  I  was  tired  of  Aunt  Isabel,  tired  of  the  perpetual 
nagging.  It  was  awful  to  have  to  bear  with  all  she  had  to  say  to 
me — to  feel  that  she  begrudged  me  every  bit  I  ate.  Uncle 
Edward  was  good  enough — but  he  was  afraid  of  Aunt  Isabel — 
poor  man." 

Xaviera  extended  one  of  the  beautiful  hands  that  Phyllis  had 
so  much  admired,  and  clasped  the  girl's  fluttering  fingers.  The 
pressure  was  warm,  strong,  encouraging.  It  was  the  hand  and  the 
handclasp  of  a  woman  who  could  make  a  wonderful  friend. 

"  You  are  upset  and  nervous,"  she  said.  "  Try  to  look  on 
the  bright  side  of  things.  There  is  something  wrong  with  your 
education,  somewhere." 

"  Shall  I  kneel  to  them  ?  Shall  I  praise  and  toady  and  hem 
and  haw  and  feign  politeness  and  meekness  when  I  am  neither 
meek  nor  polite?  Look  at  it  yourself  with  my  eyes!  Sending 


26  THE   HOUSE    ON    THE   HILL. 

me  out  here — literally  burying  me  alive !  Look  at  me ! M  She 
threw  her  lovely  head  in  air;  excitement  had  brought  the  blood 
to  her  young  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  like  gleaming  stars. 
Xaviera  caught  her  breath. 

"You  are  a  beautiful,  beautiful  girl,  Miss  Phyllis  Gordon," 
ehe  said.  "  A  very  beautiful  girl.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
that  beauty  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Marry  a  rich  man,"  said  Phyllis,  promptly. 

The  answer,  if  natural,  was  somewhat  disconcerting. 

"  Oh — I  see  you  are  a  wise  girl,  also,"  said  Xaviera,  after 
a  pause.  "  Very  wise  as  well  as  very  beautiful,  Miss  Phyllis.  Will 
you  listen  to  me?  If  you  fret  against  the  bond  for  your  year 
at  Segrovia  you  are  going  to  dim  that  beauty  of  yours.  You  are 
going  to  worry  little  lines  under  your  beautiful  big  blue  eyes, 
and  your  pretty  mouth  is  going  to  droop  at  the  corners.  Fine 
wrinkles  will  creep  about  that  delicate  little  nose  of  yours." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  you  should  make  the  best  of  it.  Fill  your  days 
with  something  useful." 

"  You  mean  that  I  should  work  ?  " 

"  Work,  if  it  comes  to  that.    Yes." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  a  Gordon." 

"  Then  to  be  a  Gordon  means  that  it  is  also  a  necessity  to  live 
on  the  pittance  doled  out  by  unwilling  relatives  ?  " 

Phyllis  shivered. 

"Work!  It  lowers  one  so!  I  should  lose  status  in  society! 
No  one  worth  while  would  bother  with  me  then." 

Across  Xaviera's  face  there  crept  an  expression  of  contempt. 

"  Supposing — such  things  have  happened  even  to  girls  as 
beautiful — supposing  you  never  marry  ?  " 


THE   HOUSE    ON    THE   HILL.  27 

"  I  shall  marry,"  said  Phyllis,  confidently. 

"  And  what  part  does  love  play  in  the  program  ?  " 

"  Very  little,  I  must  confess." 

"  What  a  dreadful  future !  " 

"  You  are  too  serious — too  sentimental." 

"  Child,  you  are  so  young.  I  wish  I  could  know  you  for  a 
little  while — I  would  like  to  try  to  change  these  awful  ideas." 

"  Awful  ?  I  would  not  marry  a  poor  man,  no  matter  how  much 
I  loved  him." 

Xaviera  looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"  You  seek — I  shun — society.  Yet  even  to  you  who  run  aftei 
it,  it  has  not  been  true." 

"  I  can  not  live  without  it." 

Xaviera  said  no  more.  Unconscious  of  the  concentration  of 
her  gaze  she  stared  into  the  young  face.  The  train  slackened 
speed — the  guard,  throwing  wide  the  door,  called  out : 

"  Segrovia." 

Both  girls  were  unprepared  for  the  announcement.  They 
picked  up  their  hats  from  the  space  beside  them,  and  Phyllis 
sprang  to  lift  down  Xaviera's  bag. 

"  It  is  so  late,"  said  Phyllis.  "  It  must  surely  be  nine  o'clock. 
Are  you  expected  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Xaviera. 

"  I  am — I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  listen  to  a  lecture  because 
the  train  was  delayed.  Will  you  shake  hands  with  me  ?  " 

The  girl's  delicate  hands  had  fascinated  her,  their  touch 
seemed  to  give  her  a  certain  strength.  Xaviera  clasped  her  fingers 
closely. 

"  We  shall  meet  again,"  she  said,  gently.  "  Be  a  good  little 
girl." 


28  THE   HOUSE   ON    THE   HILL. 

She  turned  and  walked  away  from  her — not  because  she  did 
not  want  to  see  the  meeting  between  Phyllis  and  the  tall,  thin 
woman  rapidly  approaching  them,  but  because  she  wanted  more 
than  anything  else  to  be  alone.  Phyllis,  waiting,  realized  with 
dismay  that  her  picture  of  Aunt  Mary  had  not  been  overdrawn. 
She  was  very  thin,  indeed,  and  her  sharp,  pinched  features  gave 
her  an  acrid  appearance.  The  incongruity  of  the  two  long  curls 
that  dangled,  one  on  each  side  of  her  face,  was  not  lost  on 
Phyllis. 

"Miss  Gordon?" 

Phyllis  bowed — a  bow  so  deep  and  so  full  of  reverence  that 
it  was  mockery. 

"  Stand  still/'  said  Mrs.  Browne,  commandingly,  with  the  air 
of  a  martinet. 

The  girl  obeyed. 

"Look  at  me!" 

Phyllis  raised  those  dancing  eyes  to  her  face,  a  smile  twitching 
at  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  despite  her  efforts  to  be  grave. 

"  Yes — you  are  like  my  brother.  Very  childish,  indeed.  You 
have  baggage  ?  Burton,  take  Miss  Gordon's  bag." 

A  really  smart-looking  groom  came  forward.  Phyllis  sur- 
rendered the  bag,  wondering  if  her  father  had  been  childish.  She 
did  not  speak  again  until  they  were  started  on  the  way  home. 

"  What  detained  those  wretched  cars  ? "  asked  Aunt  Mary. 
"I  shall  have  an  attack  of  rheumatism  from  that  cold  station. 
I  know  it.  I  can  feel  it  in  my  bones." 

"  Rocks  on  the  track,"  said  Phyllis,  briefly.  She  wondered 
if  she  would  learn  to  bite  off  the  ends  of  her  words  like  that  be- 
fore the  year  passed.  "We  were  kept  back  an  hour.  If  the 
engineer  had  not  been  fortunate  we  would  all  have  been  killed." 


THE   HOUSE    ON   THE   HILL.  20 

"  Killed  ?  Umph !  They'd  say  so,  anyhow.  Always  do  exag- 
gerate— those  fellows.  Where  was  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — somewhere  around  a  ravine — " 

"  Bayard's  Gulf,  I  suppose.  Well,  that  is  a  dangerous  place. 
Did  you  see  the  rocks  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Phyllis,  wearily. 

Both  were  silent.  Not  a  sound  could  be  heard  through  the 
night  but  the  sharp  beat  of  the  horses'  hoofs  upon  the  snow. 

"  We  are  very  plain  people  in  Segrovia,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  at 
last.  "I  hope  you  will  be  comfortable.  It  may  come  hard  at 
first  to  do  without  the  Edward  Gordon  luxury." 

She  spoke  with  a  fine  contempt.    Phyllis  made  no  answer. 

"It  is,  after  all,  a  healthy  existence,"  continued  Aunt  Mary. 
"  You  may  not  think  so  right  away — and  yet  you  will  find  plenty 
to  amuse  you — " 

"  In  the  country  in  November  ?  "  interposed  Phyllis,  quickly, 
with  contempt  as  fine  as  her  own. 

"  Even  in  November.  All  beauty  does  not  vanish  with  the 
summer."  She  gave  her  a  keen  glance.  "  And,  barring  just  a  few 
restrictions,  you  can  do  exactly  as  you  please." 

"  That  is  good,"  said  Phyllis — and  as  an  afterthought,  "  Are 
we  nearly  to  the  house?  I  am  tired." 


80  *  FOH   HIS   SAKE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

FOB  HIB  SAKE. 

IF  Xaviera  Pomeroy  had  seemed  calm  enongh  and  self-pos- 
sessed enough  to  talk  of  Phyllis  Gordon's  affairs,  it  was  not  be- 
cause she  was  really  interested  in  them,  but  because  her  mind 
was  in  so  confused  a  state  that  she  felt  she  must  occupy  it  with 
some  trivial  matter — and  to  her,  just  then,  Phyllis  Gordon  was 
a  very  trivial  matter  indeed!  Simply  an  outlet,  a  diversion. 
She  was  not  afraid  of  the  thick  darkness  of  the  farther  roads — 
since  all  about  her  was  the  brightness  of  white  snow,  and  the 
calm  light  of  the  moon.  She  was  glad  to  be  alone.  And  what 
were  her  first  words : 

"  The  house  on  the  hill  1  The  house  on  the  hill !  "  she  mur- 
mured, brokenly.  "I  went  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  to 
take  up  my  cross  again.  I  do  not  ask  Thee  to  remove  it,"  she 
said,  raising  her  face  to  the  brilliant  sky.  "  But  take  this  fear  of 
it  away  from  me,  since  I  would  only  strive  to  do  Thy  will.  I  am 
but  a  weak  woman,  Lord.  Let  me  not  depend  upon  my  strength 
alone." 

For  a  long  time,  pursuing  this  bitter  train  of  thought,  she 
went  on  her  way,  careless  of  the  fact  that  she  knew  not  where 
she  was  going,  that  she  was  utterly  unacquainted  with  the  way 
the  path  led.  To  her,  just  then,  one  direction  would  have  been 
as  good  as  another,  for  she  had  come  unheralded  and  unan- 
nounced to  people  who  were,  at  heart,  strangers  to  her,  for  all 
the  ties  of  blood  that  bound  them.  Nevertheless,  she  had  re- 


FOR   HIS   SAKE.  81 

solved  to  seek  them — yes,  to  make  her  home  with  them,  to  learn 
to  love  them,  and  to  compel  their  love,  if  that  were  possible.  And 
Xaviera  Pomeroy  had  found  few  things  impossible  in  all  her 
brave  life  heretofore. 

A  sudden  shiver  passed  over  her.  It  seemed  to  her  it  was 
growing  colder — surely  that  breeze  tugging  at  her  coat  was 
stronger  than  when  she  first  started  out !  She  gazed  up  at  the 
sky  apprehensively — a  few  fine  little  clouds  were  drifting  across 
the  moon's  face — yes,  the  wind  was  certainly  stronger,  and  colder 
and  keener.  It  was  so  late,  also,  and  to  ask  questions  at  this 
hour !  Xaviera  was  aware  with  what  rapidity  news  spreads  in  a 
little  town,  and  she  would  seek  her  aunts  as  quietly  as  possible. 
She  passed  one  or  two  houses — they  were  gloomy  and  colorless; 
no  sign  of  life  visible  except  the  barking  of  the  dogs  in  the  porches 
and  yards.  The  village  proper  lay  farther  on.  She  looked  at 
her  watch.  Nine  o'clock !  Surely  that  was  not  so  late,  even  for 
Segrovia. 

A  sudden  flame  seemed  to  light  up  the  distance  in  front  of  her 
— and  she  who  had  complained  truly  a  few  moments  before  that 
she  could  not  walk  even  five  minutes  without  some  objective  point, 
grasped  her  bag  more  firmly,  and  set  out  for  the  steady  light.  Her 
uprightness,  the  swing  of  the  lithe,  slim  body,  showed  perfect 
health  and  command  of  muscle.  As  she  approached  she  saw  that 
the  flame  came  from  a  blacksmith's  shop  and  that  the  smith 
himself  was  evidently  at  work,  for  the  sound  of  heavy,  ringing 
blows  was  borne  to  her  ears.  She  would  inquire  here.  As  she 
turned  into  the  path,  the  wind,  which  had  increased  in  violence, 
almost  threw  her  from  her  feet.  She  paused  to  steady  herself. 
A  gentleman  in  riding  costume  was  standing  just  inside — waiting 
for  the  man  to  finish  shoeing  his  horse,  evidently.  Xaviera 


32  FOR   HIS    SAKE. 

shrank  back  almost  in  affright,  her  hand  clasping  her  heart.  Then 
she  saw  that  the  interested  face  turned  toward  her  was  that  of  a 
stranger.  The  cold  look  of  displeasure  that  had  crept  into  her 
eyes  when  she  first  discovered  Phyllis  Gordon  was  her  chief  ex- 
pression now.  She  turned  away  quickly.  She  would  not  put 
any  questions  before  this  man.  He  seemed  to  remind  her  that 
the  civilization  she  hated  could  not  be  utterly  banished  from  her 
life. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  as  he  noticed  that  sudden 
movement  of  aversion.  He  came  hurriedly  outside  the  shop. 
"  You  wished— " 

"  Nothing,  I  thank  you,"  she  responded.  Then,  conscious  of 
her  rudeness,  "  Or — perhaps  you  could  inform  me  how  to  reach 
the  main  street  of  the  village  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes — at  the  top  of  this  road  there  is  a  little  bridge. 
Cross  it,  and  turn  to  your  right.  The  road  is  not  so  hilly  once 
the  bridge  is  crossed." 

He  spoke  pleasantly,  courteously.  Xaviera  bowed  her  head 
and  turned  out  into  the  path  again. 

"  Shall  I  go  to  a  hotel — surely  Segrovia  boasts  of  a  hotel  ? 
Or  shall  I  hunt  up  my  aunts  at  once  ?  "  she  mused.  She  did  not 
know  that  the  gentleman  was  standing  where  she  had  left  him, 
staring  intently  after  her.  "  Do  they  possess  my  father's 
heart — or  are  they  miserable  and  narrow  as  are  the  rest  of  the 
world?  They  may  be  dead.  Dead!  But  they  must  have  left 
children.  Aunt  Winifred  was  fourteen  years  younger  than  Aunt 
Magdalen — she  must  be  alive,  surely.  Ah,  my  brother,  what 
day-dreams  ours  were!  The  fortune  we  meant  to  accumulate, 
and  the  home  we  meant  to  make  for  our  people,  whom  we  loved 
because  they  were  fathers  sisters.  And  now!  Unknown,  un- 


FOR   HIS    BAKE.  3ft 

fought,  unwelcome,  unhappy,  I  come  here.  How  shall  I  leave  it  ? 
Ah,  my  brother,  what  is  my  future  without  you  ?  " 

She  had  reached  the  little  bridge,  had  crossed  it,  and  turned 
to  the  right.  She  was  too  perturbed  to  notice  the  loneliness  of 
the  path  she  was  to  take.  It  was  probably  a  side  lane  leading  into 
the  busier  thoroughfare  of  the  town.  Only  one  house,  little, 
low,  single-storied,  stood  set  near  the  edge  of  the  road.  Xaviera's 
brows  were  drawn  together.  Once  more  her  mind  wandered  in  one 
of  those  painful  fits  of  abstraction  that  had  afflicted  her  so  often  of 
late.  A  sudden  weakness  crept  into  her  limbs.  Her  footsteps  fal- 
tered. The  constriction  of  her  throat  seemed  to  forebode  teari. 
Tears!  The  very  thought  frightened  her. 

"  I  will  not  weep,"  she  said,  aloud.    "  I  will  not  weep." 

She  threw  her  head  back  defiantly,  her  brows  curving. 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  she  said.  "  I  have  no  time  for  tears.  This 
is  the  time  to  be  practical — to  forget  this  absurd  heartsickness 
that  weighs  me  down.  I  must  conquer  myself.  I  have  come  to 
Segrovia  to  conquer  myself.  And  I  shall  succeed." 

The  futility  of  her  efforts  to  find  those  she  sought  without 
inquiry,  the  impracticability  of  going  further  without  positive 
knowledge,  struck  her  with  force.  She  must  seek  shelter  some- 
where— anywhere — for  the  night  at  least.  She  must  put  a  stop  to 
these  sorrowful  thoughts  that  threatened  to  engulf  her. 

And  so,  straightening  her  shoulders,  wil;h  sudden  resolution, 
she  knocked  sharply  at  the  door  of  the  gloomy  cottage.  Again 
and  again  she  rapped.  Her  efforts  were  rewarded.  She  heard 
slow  steps  coming  along  the  hall,  and  then  a  woman's  face  peered 
out  at  her. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  trembling  tone.  "  What  do  you 
want?" 


84  FOR   HIB    SAKE. 

"  A  moment's  rest/*  said  Xaviera,  "  and  the  answer  to  a  few 
questions." 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  the  woman,  who  was  very  old,  flung 
the  door  wide. 

"  A  stranger — and  at  this  hour !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Come  in, 
child.  You  are  ill — your  face  is  pale,  your  lips  are  white.  Can 
I  help  you?" 

There  was  a  strange  eagerness  in  her  countenance. 

"I  am  poor,"  she  continued.  "But  my  rooms  are  warm — 
and  there  is  a  chair  if  you  would  rest  yourself — " 

Xaviera  could  not  understand  why  she  looked  at  her  so  fix- 
edly. It  was  the  face  of  a  woman  who  had  suffered  much — the 
deep  lines  on  the  forehead  and  around  the  mouth  spoke  of  that. 
But  the  patient  resignation,  the  humility  that  shone  from  the 
faded  blue  eyes  won  the  girl's  heart. 

"  I  would  like  to  accept  your  invitation — but  I  am  afraid  it 
is  so  late  now  that  I  can  not  delay  very  much  longer.  Tell  me, 
have  you  lived  here  any  length  of  time  ?  " 

"  Almost  all  my  life,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"  Ah !  You  may  have  heard,  then,  of  the  Pomeroys  ?  Wini- 
fred and  Magdalen  Pomeroy  ?  " 

The  woman  trembled  a  little.  She  did  not  answer  imme- 
diately, and  Xaviera  looked  at  her  in  anxious  suspense. 

"  Heard  ?  Of  the  Pomeroys  ?  Indeed,  yes,  my  child.  I  know 
them  well." 

Xaviera  bent  forward  eagerly. 

"Know  them?  They  are  alive  then  still?  They  are  well? 
They  are  married  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  married — they  are  the  dressmakers  of  the  vil- 
lage. Their  house  is  about  a  half-mile  farther  on.  They  live 


FOR   HIS  SAKE.  35 

right  across  from  the  main  street.  But  you  are  surely  not  going 
to  them  at  this  hour  ?  They  will  have  retired  long  since/' 

Xaviera's  lips  moved  silently.  The  words  meant  peace  to  her. 
Her  father's  own  sisters!  Alive!  Well!  And  she  was  here  to 
stay  with  them — to  love  them.  .  .  . 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said,  putting  out  her  hand  and  clasping 
the  old  woman's  wrinkled  fingers.  "  I  thank  you,  thank  you, 
thank  you.  They  are  the  ones  for  whom  I  am  in  search — and  I 
knew  not  where  nor  whom  to  ask — " 

"  You  will  go  to  the  Pomeroys  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady,  in  sur- 
prise. "  You  are — a  relative,  maybe  ?  " 

"  You  may  have  heard  of  Francis  Pomeroy  ?  "  asked  Xaviera, 
gently.  This  old,  old  woman,  this  dear  old  woman,  must  have 
known  her  father,  too.  Perhaps  remembered  him  from  that  time 
when  he  had  been  a  child — could  tell  her  of  him!  Her  heart 
warmed — what  a  dear,  patient,  good  old  woman  she  seemed ! 

"  And  you  ?  "  asked  the  other,  breathlessly  now.  Her  face 
was  pallid.  "  And  you,  and  you — young  stranger  ?  Who  may  you 
be?" 

"  His  only  living  child — Xaviera  Pomeroy.  My  brother  died 
one  year  ago." 

A  little  sigh  passed  the  old  woman's  lips.  She  grasped  at 
the  framework  of  the  door,  and  held  to  it,  and  her  body  fell 
against  it. 

Xaviera  looked  at  her  anxiously. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  the  old  lady,  her  white  lips  barely  framing 
the  words.  "  I  knew  it,  knew  it,  knew  it,  when  I  saw  your  face. 
I  knew  it  when  you  spoke  to  me.  I  knew  it  when  you  looked  at 
me." 

Shaking  as  with  a  chill  she  stood,  and  Xaviera,  putting  forth 


86  FOR   HIS   8A.EE. 

both  strong  young  arms,  held  her  in  an  embrace  meant  to 
strengthen  her  failing  limbs. 

"  Your  mother  I "  whispered  the  woman.  "  Your  mother,  my 
ehild?" 

"  I  never  knew  my  mother/'  said  Xaviera,  tenderly,  such  plead- 
ing was  in  the  poor  old  face.  "  She  died  soon  after  I  was  born. 
It  is  not  possible  that  you  knew  my  mother,  too  ?  " 

"  I  knew  your  father — well,"  said  the  woman,  tremblingly. 
"  I  knew  him  and  I  loved  him.  Child,  if  you  knew  what  joy  it  is 
to  me  to  feel  the  arms  of  Frank  Pomeroy's  daughter  about  me. 
But  take  them  away.  Your  aunts,  if  they  knew,  would  not  like 
it—" 

"  My  aunts !  "  said  the  girl.  "  Tell  me  about  them.  Oh,  I  do 
not  trust  strangers — for  strangers  have  used  me  cruelly,  cruelly. 
But  I  trust  you.  Tell  me  of  my  aunts." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  of  your  father,  rather,"  said  the  old  woman, 
wistfully.  "  And  after  him  of  Magdalen  Pomeroy,  and  Winifred. 
Look — my  house  is  humble,  poor,  straitened — but  it  is  overlate 
for  you  to  seek  shelter  elsewhere  to-night.  I  have  not  had  much 
happiness  these  last  years  of  my  life — will  you  believe  me  when  I 
tell  you  that  it  will  make  me  very  happy  to  have  you  spend  one 
night  under  my  roof  ?  Will  you  gladden  my  heart  just  for  this 
one  night? — gladden  it  because  Frank's  child  would  not  disdain 
its  shelter?" 

And  then  Xaviera  Pomeroy  did  a  most  strange  thing.  She 
bent  her  stately  head  and  kissed  the  old  woman  on  the  lips. 

"  I  shall  stay — and  thank  you  for  permitting  me  to,"  she  said. 
"  For  I  can  tell  by  your  very  voice  that  you  loved  him — and  I 
know  that  you  will  love  me  for  his  sake." 


BIB   SISTER  MA.ODALEN.  87 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HIS  SISTER  MAGDALEN. 

THEY  talked  far  into  the  night.  The  old  lady,  whose  name 
was  Thornton,  told  Xaviera  many  tales  of  that  distant  past  with 
which  her  father  was  connected.  She  did  not  seem  to  know  much 
of  his  marriage — she  could  tell  her  very  little  on  this  subject,  and 
she  was  constrained  and  silent  when  the  girl  spoke  of  Magdalen 
Pomeroy.  When  morning  came,  and  it  was  time  for  her  to  set 
out  for  the  cottage,  Mrs.  Thornton  could  scarcely  bear  to  part 
with  her. 

"  You  will  return  ?  Promise  me  you  will  return  ?  "  she  said. 
"  You  will  not  find  it  hard  now  to  reach  them."  She  gave  her  ex- 
plicit directions — and  then  added  with  that  strange  thrill  in  her 
voice,  "  I  can  not  bear  to  let  you  go.  You  will  come  back  again — 
you  will  not  leave  without  seeing  me  if  it  is  only  just  once  more  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  away  from  Segrovia,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  shall 
stay  here  now  that  I  have  come." 

"God  grant  it,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton.  The  tears  that  had 
been  welling  to  her  eyes  fell  upon  her  clasped  fingers  as  she 
watched  the  girl — who  stood  when  she  reached  the  top  of  the 
road  to  wave  her  hand  back  at  her  in  farewell.  "  She  looks  so 
good,  so  honest — it  seems  as  if  she  really  knew  what  her  life  pur- 
pose was  to  be.  Frank,  Frank,  how  is  it  that  your  child  comes 
from  the  great  world  like  a  bird  thrown  from  its  nest — here,  the 
place  you  disliked  above  all  others?  Did  you,  too,  discover  that 
the  world  was  but  a  delusion  and  a  snare  after  you  found  your 


88  HIS    SISTER   MAGDALEN. 

way  outside  ?    Do  you  know  that  she  is  here  ?  And  she  has  come — 
for  what  ?  To  make  atonement  ?  God  grant  it,  Frank,  God  grant 

It  I" 

Xaviera,  meanwhile,  soon  found  herself  standing  before  the 
two-storied  white  house  Mrs.  Thornton  had  described  to  her.  She 
had  not  left  very  early,  for  she  had  wished  to  give  her  aunts  a 
chance  to  start  the  day  before  she  surprised  them.  A  few  mo- 
ments she  waited,  looking  at  the  sign  on  the  door — a  black  sign, 
with  an  inscription  in  white  letters : 


THE  MISSES  POMEROY. 
DRESSMAKERS. 


A  smile  curved  the  girl's  lips.  She  had  come  to  Segrovia  to 
"  learn  to  work."  The  bodily  weariness  of  the  night  before  had 
left  her — even  the  great  and  bewildering  shock  occasioned  by  what- 
ever vision  she  had  seen  in  the  "  house  on  the  hill "  had  worn  away. 
With  the  cold,  clear  sunlight  of  a  new  day  enveloping  her,  she 
felt  strong  for  any  fate.  She  could  dare  the  future  more  coura- 
geously. And  she  was  glad  now  that  she  had  not  come  to  them 
as  she  had  been  last  night — heartsick  and  footsore  and  despondent. 

So  Xaviera  stood,  staring  at  the  sign.  She  was  to  cast  her 
lot  with  the  village  dressmakers.  Not  a  misgiving  crossed  that 
great  mind  of  hers  as  to  her  ability  to  make  her  lot  a  peaceful, 
contented  one. 

"  Nay — of  all  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  Thy  table,  Lord,"  she 
breathed.  "  Give  me  content.  Possessing  that,  I  am  rich,  indeed 
— and  Lord,  Thou  knowest  how  long  I  have  lacked  it,  and  lacking 
it,  despite  the  riches  the  world  gave  me,  how  poor,  how  poor,  how 
poor!" 


HIS   SISTER   MAGDALEN.  39 

Her  eyes  fell  suddenly  on  the  lowest  of  the  immaculately 
white  steps  that  led  up  to  the  door.  Then  she  knew  that  she  had 
been  looking,  without  seeing  him,  at  a  little  boy — a  little  child 
surely  not  more  than  five  years  old.  He  was  poorly  dressed  and 
his  feet  were  encased  in  broken  shoes  away  too  large  for  him.  He 
was  blowing  lustily  on  his  little  hands,  which  were  blue  with  the 
cold. 

"  You  will  get  sick  if  you  stay  out  here,"  said  Xaviera,  gently. 
"  Why  don't  you  go  inside,  you  foolish  little  fellow  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  shyly  with  his  gray  eyes — so  shyly  that 
Xaviera  barely  refrained  from  picking  him  up  in  her  arms  and 
carrying  him  in  with  her  whether  he  would  or  no.  The  door  opened 
just  then,  and  a  girl  came  out — as  poorly  clad  as  the  boy,  with  a 
thin,  peaked  face,  and  unkempt  hair  adding  to  the  elfish  look  in- 
duced by  cold  and  hunger.  She  had  a  paper  parcel  which  she 
held  very  carefully,  and  she  came  down  the  steps,  lowering  her 
eyes  when  she  met  Xaviera's  curious  glance.  The  little  boy 
grabbed  at  her  skirt  as  she  approached  him. 

"  Why  don't  you  send  him  inside  ?  "  asked  Xaviera  then.  "  It 
is  too  cold  for  either  one  of  you  to  be  out.  Your  clothes  are  very 
poor  for  such  a  bleak  day  as  this." 

"Danny  can't  come  in,"  said  the  girl,  shrinking.  "Miss 
Winnie  scolds  me,  sometimes,  if  she  sees  him — but  Danny  always 
follows  me.  I  tell  him  and  tell  him  to  stay  at  home — but  he  just 
won't." 

"  And  where — isn't  this  your  home  ?  "  asked  Xaviera. 

The  girl's  eyes  opened  very  wide. 

"  This  ?  Oh,  no,  ma'am.  This  is  Miss  Pomeroy's.  I  only 
run  errands  sometimes  for  Miss  Pomeroy.  And  Danny  follows 


40  #LS    8I8TER   MAGDALEN. 

"Haven't  you  a  mother?"  asked  Xaviera,  her  heart  aching 
as  she  noted  the  poverty-stricken  appearance  of  the  two  children. 

"No,  ma'am."  Then  she  added,  quickly.  "Danny  has  me, 
though/' 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  buy  things  for  Danny  ?  "  asked  Xaviera, 
"  If  I  give  you  some  money  to  buy  thick  stockings  for  you  and 
Danny,  and —  Let  me  see  your  feet.  Yes,  I  guess  you  need  a  new 
pair  of  shoes,  too.  And  after  that  take  what  is  left  and  get  some- 
thing to  eat,  and  don't  go  out  again  to-day.  And  if  you  come  to 
see  me  soon  I  shall  go  with  you  to  your  house  and  see  what  I  can 
do  for  you." 

What  better  way  than  to  start  her  new  life  with  an  act  of 
charity?  Xaviera's  heart,  touched  as  it  was,  grew  tender  when 
she  saw  the  look  of  delight  that  flashed  across  the  child's  face. 

"  If  they  ask  you  who  gave  you  the  money,  or  question  you," 
said  Xaviera,  "  tell  them  to  come  to  Miss  Pomeroy." 

The  girl's  eyes  were  sparkling — she  looked  at  the  money  in 
the  extended  hand,  incredulously.  Then  she  gazed  once  more  into 
Xaviera's  face.  Seeing  that  it  was  really  intended  for  her  she 
grasped  it  hurriedly. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said.  "  Thank  you — you  are  good.  You  are  so 
good.  You  are — " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Xaviera.  "  Come  to  see  me  to-morrow, 
and  then  you  can  tell  me  who  you  are,  dear.  But  first,  what  is 
your  name  ?  " 

"  Elizabeth  Bernard." 

"Good-by,  Elizabeth." 

She  knocked  at  the  door  two  or  three  times.  Receiving  no 
answer  she  turned  the  knob,  and  found  herself  in  a  narrow  hall. 
Not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  Xaviera  entered.  A  door  at  the 


BIS   SISTER  MAGDALEN.  41 

right  evidently  led  into  another  room,  and  there  was  a  closed 
door  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  She  hardly  knew  which  one  to  try 
first — but  noticing  that  the  one  nearest  her  was  slightly  ajar,  she 
knocked  gently  and  went  in.  A  little  woman,  rather  stout,  and 
with  a  round,  pleasant,  somewhat  weak  face,  was  bending  over 
a  machine,  sewing  on  some  black  stuff.  Seeing  Xaviera,  she  im- 
mediately ceased  her  work,  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  You  will  pardon  me  for  entering  in  this  way,"  said  Xaviera, 
in  her  sweet  voice.  All  the  coldness  of  her  exterior  had  disap- 
peared as  if  by  magic.  She  forgot  all,  everything,  save  that  here 
were  her  father's  sisters,  who  were  to  love  her,  and  whom  she 
was  to  love.  "I  knocked  at  the  outside  door  several  times — but 
I  received  no  answer." 

"  It  is  always  open/'  said  the  little  woman.  Xaviera,  stand- 
ing, saw  that  she  herself  was  head  and  shoulders  over  her.  "  Every 
one  about  here  knows  that,  so  they  just  walk  in.  My  sister  and 
I  are  always  so  busy — we  have  no  time  to  keep  the  latch  on.  But 
perhaps  I  can  serve  you  ?  "  She  glanced  at  the  qniet  elegance  of 
the  slender  figure.  "  You  wish — " 

"You  are — Miss  Pomeroy?"  asked  Xaviera — and  there  was 
a  curious  tremble  in  her  voice.  "  Miss — Winifred  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  woman. 

"  I  am  Xaviera  Pomeroy — your  brother  Frank's  only 
daughter." 

There  was  dead  silence.  The  woman  seemed  suddenly  frozen. 
She  clutched  at  the  machine,  and  after  that  stood  staring,  her 
face  growing  white.  Fear  struck  at  Xaviera's  heart.  Why  was  it 
people  looked  at  her  so  strangely?  What  effect  had  her  name  on 
these  simple  folk  that  it  created  fear  rathe*  than  astonishment—- 
and never  welcome? 


48  HIS   SISTER   MAGDALEN. 

"  You  are  my  Aunt  Winifred  ?  "  she  said,  gently.  "  Surely 
you  know  of  me  ?  " 

"Xaviera  Pomeroy — yes,  I  know  of  you,"  said  the  little 
woman,  tremulously.  She  glanced  nervously  toward  the  inner 
room.  "  Won't  you — sit  down  ?  " 

But  Xaviera  did  not  hear  her. 

"  I  came  to  find  you/'  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  Frank  is 
dead — he  died  a  year  ago.  And  my  father —  You  knew  that —  I 
am  alone." 

"  And  why —    What  brought  you  to  Segrovia  ?  " 

"I  did  not  expect  to  find  you  living — I  wanted  to  see  his 
home — " 

"What  is  it?"  called  a  sharp  voice  from  the  inner  room. 
"Who  is  out  there,  Winifred?" 

"  Come,  and  see,  Magdalen,"  was  the  answer,  in  a  strange 
tone.  "  Come,  and  see." 

Xaviera  turned  an  expectant  face  toward  the  door,  in  which  at 
that  moment  the  tall  figure  of  a  woman  appeared — as  tall  a  woman 
as  was  Xaviera  herself.  They  stood,  gazing  one  at  the  other. 
From  the  mass  of  gray-black  hair  to  the  dark  eyes,  in  which 
strange  lights  burned,  the  set  lips,  the  whole  carriage  of  the  body 
— all,  every  bit  of  her,  was  Xaviera  Pomeroy.  And  the  woman 
looked  upon  the  girl  as  she  might  upon  her  lost  youth.  In- 
credulity, anger,  passion — who  could  read  the  complexity  of 
emotions  that  succeeded  one  another  over  her  clearly-chiseled 
features?  It  was  a  noble  old  age — straight  and  undimmed  and 
masterful  for  all  the  years.  Time  had  not  conquered  the  proud 
head,  or  touched  to  stooping  the  squarely-set  shoulders.  Xaviera 
had  not  expected  her  Aunt  Magdalen  to  look  like  this.  As  for  the 
older  woman,  she  advanced  very  slowly  toward  the  girl  until  she 


HIS   SISTER   MAGDALEN.  43 

stood  close  to  her.  Their  eyes  were  on  a  level — only  that  Xaviera's 
were  young  eyes  and  nobler  eyes.  No  fire  of  resentment  stirred 
their  depths.  No  years  of  animosity  had  made  the  lines  about 
them  cruel.  No  unforgiving  spirit  looked  from  behind  the  long 
black  lashes.  And  in  Magdalen  Pomeroy's  were  all  these:  ani- 
mosity, cruelty,  unforgiveness.  But  Xaviera  held  her  own. 

"  Frank !  "  whispered  the  woman.     "  Frank !  " 

That  was  all.  Suddenly  then,  the  fierce  light  left  her  face, 
and  she  began  to  sob  in  a  dry,  tearless  fashion  that  was  awful  to 
hear.  Much  frightened,  Winifred  Pomeroy  went  to  her  sister, 
and  put  her  arms  about  her. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  had  you  prepared  us,"  she  said. 
"It  is  not  well  to  do  such  a  thing  as  this — we  are  both  old  and 
can  not  stand  very  much.  Why  did  you  not  write  ?  " 

"  I  could  not,"  said  Xaviera,  sick  at  heart  at  this  strange  re- 
ception. "  I  could  not.  I  did  not  know  whether  you  were  dead 
or  living.  My  brother  wrote  you — " 

"  Your  brother !  An  actor — as  your  father  was — as  you  are ! 
Why  should  we  answer  his  letter?  Who  was  he,  or  what  was  he 
to  us — "  It  was  Aunt  Magdalen  who  spoke.  "  What  have  we 
simple,  honest  folk  to  do  with  the  like  of  you  and  yours  ?  " 

A  deeper  crimson  suffused  the  girl's  pale  face. 

"You  have  brought  your  mother  with  you,  perhaps?"  went 
on  Aunt  Magdalen,  shaking  as  with  an  ague  with  very  passion. 
"  She,  too,  is  smitten  with  overwhelming  desire  to  see  the  home 
of  her  husband  ?  " 

"  My  mother  ?  "  asked  Xaviera.  This  was  too  much — her 
lips  trembled.  "  My  mother  is  dead.  I  have  never  seen  my 
mother." 

<e  Ah !  "  interposed  Aunt  Winifred.     "  You  have  never  seen 


44  HIS    SISTER   MAGDALEN. 

your  mother  ? "    And  then  she  added,  in  a  different  tone :  "  When 
do  you  go  back  to  Italy  ?  " 

"  Never.    I  intend  to  remain  here." 

"Never?    You— » 

"Not  in  this  house — no.  My  reception  scarcely  warrants 
that."  She  went  to  the  door.  "I  shall  remain  in  Segrovia, 
nevertheless.  I  have  seen  my  father's  sisters.  My — father's — 
sisters ! "  She  turned  to  look  at  them — both  of  them — and  the 
disdain  in  her  glance  made  the  younger  woman  wince.  "  Pardon 
me  if  I  say  that  I  can  scarcely  believe  it." 

"  Wait,  wait,"  said  Winifred,  hastily.  "  Magdalen,  after  all — 
Magdalen,  she  is  going  away.  You  won't  let  her  go  away,  Mag- 
dalen." 

"  Stay !  "  said  Magdalen  Pomeroy,  in  a  harsh  voice.  "  Stay, 
I  command  you ! " 

Xaviera  paused.  The  disdain  of  her  pale  face  gave  way  to 
an  erpression  of  amusement.  She  to  be  commanded — she,  who 
had  had  the  world  at  her  feet.  But  the  thought  of  that  world, 
and  of  what  she  had  suffered  in  it — the  thought  of  that  resolution 
which  she  had  made  to  put  the  world  behind  her  by  the  very 
strength  of  that  powerful  will  of  hers  came  back  upon  her,  driving 
all  disdain  and  sarcasm  from  her.  She  turned  from  the  door  and 
came  back  into  the  room  again,  holding  out  both  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  know  what  I  have  done  that  you  should  treat 
me  so  harshly,"  she  said,  piteously.  "  I  came  to  you  because  I 
wanted  to  creep  away  from  outsiders,  because  I  am  sick  of  people 
who  flatter,  who  praise,  and  who  malign.  Because  I  want  to  live 
a  simple,  honest,  true  life — just  here  with  you.  Because  my  father 
loved  you,  and  I,  too,  want  to  love  you.  Try  me.  See  of  what 
stuff  I  am  made  before  you  send  me  away  from  you." 


HI8   SI3TER  MAGDALEN.  45 

Winifred  Pomeroy  could  not  resist  her.  She  met  her  half-way, 
and  put  her  arms  about  her  tightly. 

"  Poor  child,  poor  child !  "  she  said,  weeping.  "  No,  we  shall 
not  send  you  away  from  us,  dear.  Magdalen,  tell  her  that  she 
can  stay." 

But  the  older  woman,  grown  white  and  weak,  did  not  utter  a 
word. 

"For  Frank's  sake,"  began  Winifred. 

«  For  Frank's  sake ! "  Magdalen  Pomeroy  turned  on  them  in 
sudden  rage.  "What  did  I  not  sacrifice  for  Frank's  sake?  Do 
you,  who  are  his  daughter,  know  how  much  ?  What  did  I  .not 
give  up  for  him?  Home,  husband,  children,  happiness — every- 
thing that  makes  life  worth  living  to  a  woman  I  gave  up  that  I 
might  devote  myself  to  Frank.  I  gave  him  all  my  care,  all  my 
service.  I  gave  him  love — the  love  of  my  whole  heart.  For 
Frank's  sake !  You  do  well  to  plead  in  the  name  of  one  who  so 
carried  out  my  wishes !  How  did  he  repay  me  ?  A  foolish  woman's 
prettiness  had  but  to  dawn  on  his  perverted  mind — a  pretty 
woman's  smile  had  but  to  dance  its  way  into  his  heart — and  I 
was  only  Magdalen !  He  forgot  me !  He  thwarted  all  my  hopes 
for  him,  and  all  my  plans  for  him,  and  left  me  to  my  loneliness. 
No,  no,  no.  Whatever  I  may  do  or  say  will  be  for  her  sake — not 
for  his.  There  is  no  room  in  my  heart  for  one  memory  of  the 
boy  who  proved  traitor  to  my  love — not  one." 

Xaviera  did  not  quail  under  the  dreadful  torrent  of  words 
which  were  hissed  at  her  from  between  half-shut  teeth. 

"  And  yet,  what  my  father  said  of  you,  Aunt  Magdalen, 
prompted  me  to  return,"  she  began,  steadily.  "  He  drew  me  the 
picture  of  such  a  woman — such  a  noble  and  good  and  tender 
woman ! — who  had  been  his  mother,  father,  comrade,  playfellow. 


46  HIS   81STER  MAGDALEN. 

Who  had  watched  him  and  tended  him,  and  spent  long  nightc  of 
sleeplessness  because  of  him.  And  he  told  me  of  her  great  love — 
and  how  he  had  realized  his  love  for  her — too  late.  He  had  no 
inclination  to  be  the  priest  you  would  have  made  him,  and  he  said 
he  could  not  make  you  understand.  You  would  not  feel  that  the 
highest  vocation  in  life  does  not  come  to  a  man  because  his  people 
wish  it.  Your  influence  was  so  strong  that  he  feared  he  might 
be  tempted  to  accede,  in  the  end.  He  dared  not  risk  it.  He  met 
my  mother  and  he  loved  her.  He  never  spoke  of  her  to  us  without 
the  tenderest  affection — so  that  we,  too,  loved  her  tenderly. 

"  How  he  longed  to  see  his  home — his  little  home  just  once 
before  he  died!  And  his  sister  Magdalen!  He  bade  me  bring 
her  his  message  asking  her  forgiveness.  He  said — " 

They  were  listening,  both  of  them,  with  parted  lips  and  eager 
eyes,  for  the  girPs  ringing  tones  had  carried  them  away.  Mag- 
dalen Pomeroy's  wrinkled  hands  were  clutching  at  her  heaving 
bosom. 

"  He  said—"  she  breathed.    "  Go  on." 

"  He  said  that  God  knew  he  had  tried  to  do  his  duty,  and  that 
surely  God  would  grant  him  only  one  thing — the  knowledge,  in 
that  other  world,  of  his  sister  Magdalen's  forgiveness.  He  knew 
that  the  moment  she  forgave  him  from  her  heart  that  he 
would  know  it.  He  bade  me — both  of  us,  but  only  I  am  left — he 
bade  us  tell  you  of  the  years  you  loved  him  and  cared  for  him, 
and  of  his  love  for  you.  He  bade  me  tell  you  that  never,  never 
had  he  forgotten — " 

"No  more,  girl/'  said  Magdalen  Pomeroy,  in  a  tense  voice, 
"  No  more.  I  can  not  bear  it." 

She  turned  to  leave  the  room.  When  she  reached  the  inner 
door  she  paused,  her  strong  face  working. 


HIS   SISTER   MAGDALEN.  47 

"  Stay,"  she  said.  "  Stay.  Because  you  are  Frank's  daughter, 
stay  with  us." 

"  Afterward/'  said  Winifred,  weeping.  "  She  will  bid  you 
stay  because  she  loves  you.  I  know  my  sigter  Magdalen." 


48  TBE  FLOWER   OF  RESIGNATION. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  FLOWER  OP  RESIGNATION. 

"  MAY  I  see  Miss  Pomeroy  ?  " 

There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  talk  in  the  small  town  con- 
cerning the  Honorable  Mrs.  Browne's  beautiful  niece.  Rumors 
regarding  her  angelic  loveliness,  her  charming  manners,  her  ex- 
quisite voice,  and  also  of  the  great  riches  which  she  was  sup- 
posed to  possess  in  her  own  right  had  reached  <»ven  Xaviera's  ears. 
But  the  latter  had  been  so  busy  adjusting  herself  to  new  conditions 
this  past  six  weeks  that  she  had  scarcely  a  moment  to  think  of 
the  girl  whom  she  had  met  upon  the  train  that  eventful  day.  Now 
she  looked  up  at  the  vision  in  the  doorway,  smiling  at  her  in 
friendly  fashion. 

"  Good  heavens ! "  said  Phyllis,  in  a  voice  almost  of  horror. 
For  Xaviera  was  standing  before  an  ironing-board,  industriously 
pressing  at  the  seams  of  a  waist  she  held  spread  out  before  her. 
Phyllis,  staring,  could  not  believe  her  eyes. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  she  went  on,  still  in  that  horrified 
voice.  "  No — you  working  ?  You  ?  Good  heavens  I  "  she  re- 
peated. "You  meant  it,  then?" 

Xaviera  smiled. 

"  Miss  Gordon,  is  it  not  ?  "  Phyllis  felt  rebuked  at  her  own  as- 
sumption of  more  than  mere  acquaintanceship — evidently  Xaviera 
Pomeroy  meant  to  keep  her  at  a  distance.  "  I  was  not  sure  that 
I  remembered  the  name  correctly — but  at  least  I  can  not  for- 
get that  your  given  name  is  Phyllis."  And  she  looked  at  her 


THE   FLOWER   OF   RESIGNATION.  40 

kindly.  "  You  are  welcome.  This  is  my  Aunt  Winifred.  Aunt 
Winifred,  please  permit  me — Miss  Gordon." 

Little  Aunt  Winifred  bowed — quite  overcome,  not  alone  by  the 
stranger's  wonderful  beauty,  but  by  the  sudden  graciousness,  the 
tenderness,  the  very  pride  in  Xaviera's  voice  when  she  spoke  her 
name.  Phyllis  realized  this  also,  and  looked  with  keener  interest 
at  the  plain,  pleasant  little  woman,  wondering  .if  she  were  really 
the  aunt  of  this  tall  and  queenly  girl — and  wondering  also  if  there 
were  more  to  her  than  appeared  on  the  surface.  Aunt  Winifred 
merely  bowed  and  bent  her  head  again  over  her  machine  for  a 
few  seconds.  Then  rising  she  made  some  excuse  and  left  the 
room. 

"  I  have  thrown  myself  into  the  workaday  life,  you  see,"  said 
Xaviera,  holding  up  the  garment  on  which  she  had  been  laboring. 
"  I  have  always  been  able  to  do  fine  needlework — that  was  a  natural 
taste.  Now  I  am  putting  my  natural  taste  to  some  practical  use 
— and  am  delighted  at  my  success.  Eeally  delighted." 

"  Oh,  no,"  began  Phyllis,  pleadingly.  "  I  can  not  believe  my 
own  eyes  or  ears !  It  is  impossible !  You  are  a  veritable  prin- 
cess! And  you  turn  yourself  into  a  dressmaker!  I  can  not 
understand.  You  mean  to  stay  at  this  sort  of  work?  " 

"  I  mean  to  stay  at  this  sort  of  work." 

"I  congratulate  you.  Your  will  must  be  of  iron.  As  for 
me—" 

"  You  are  pleased  with  Segrovia,  I  have  heard.  Every  one  is 
talking  of  you." 

"  Every  one — in  Segrovia.  A  pin  bubble  on  the  sea !  Yes,  I 
am  pleased  with  Segrovia.  So  exceedingly  well  pleased  that  my 
trunks  are  packed." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Xaviera,  in  great  astonishment.    "  Where  are 


50  THE   FLOWER    OF   RESIGNATION. 

you  going?  Back  to  New  York?  And  after  all  your  resolu- 
tions— " 

"  Would  to  heaven  you  could  grasp  my  position/'  said  Phyllis, 
despairingly.  "Yours — yes,  even  your  humble  one — is  paradise 
compared  to  it." 

Xaviera's  look  questioned  her,  challenged  her. 

"  You  are  older  than  I,"  said  Phyllis,  impetuously,  stung  by 
that  meaning  glance.  "  You  have  had  a  different  training.  What 
you  call  independence  7  consider  a  lowering  in  the  social  scale/' 
Her  words  were  very  warm,  and  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"We  will  not  discuss  our  relative  positions,"  said  Xaviera, 
haughtily. 

"  There — I  have  made  you  angry !  But  if  you  understood ! 
Even  you  can  not  escape  the  tongues  of  those  who  do  not  know 
you.  It  is  whispered  that  you  are  other  than  you  seem.  They 
wonder  where  you  came  from,  what  your  history  has  been.  They 
dare  to  wonder  if  you  have  not  committed  some  crime  or  other 
that  you  thus  leave  the  world  and  bury  yourself  alive.  They 
wonder — " 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  said  Xaviera,  very  white.  "  What  they  sur- 
mise is  of  no  interest  to  me.  Naturally,  people  are  anxious  to 
learn  what  sort  of  character  she  may  be  who  desires  to  live  among 
them.  It  is  but  right  that  they  should  question — I  do  not  blame 
them.  Why  do  you  mention  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  Because  from  it  I  can  judge  what  they  are  saying  of  Phyllis 
Gordon,"  cried  the  girl,  hotly.  "  Miserable  beings !  If  they  can't 
let  you  alone,  what  will  they  say  of  me  ?  " 

Xaviera  pushed  her  hair  back,  wearily. 

"  And  still  I  am  not  interested,"  she  said.  "  In  a  few  years 
they  will  look  upon  me  as  a  fixture — even  as  an  ornament  to  the 


THE   FLOWER   OF   RESIGNATION.  51 

town,  if  I  succeed  in  being  as  good  a  dressmaker  as  either  of  my 
aunts,"  and  she  smiled.  "  They  will  know  that  I  am  different. 
And  you —  In  a  few  years  you  will  have  forgotten  the  name  Se- 
grovia.  Of  what  use  ?  " 

"  Of  what  use,  indeed !  "  echoed  Phyllis.  "  It  was  such  great 
fun  the  first  few  days.  Everybody  in  the  town  was  at  his  window 
waiting  for  me  to  pass  so  that  he  could  get  a  glimpse  of  me.  Now 
no  one  on  the  street  takes  the  trouble  to  turn  his  head  to  look  at 
me !  I  know  I  am  getting  ugly  in  this  dreadful  little  place.  Such 
a  thing  could  not  happen  else." 

Xaviera  looked  at  her  almost  in  consternation.  Sorely  tempted 
to  laugh,  second  thoughts  drove  away  all  suspicion  of  amusement. 
Phyllis  had  seen  that  gravity  before ;  Xaviera  put  her  hands  upon 
the  girl's  shoulders  and  looked  into  the  upturned,  beautiful  face. 

"  What  a  wrong  they  have  done  you,  lovely  Phyllis  Gordon," 
she  said,  her  deep  voice  thrilling.  "  What  a  bitter,  miserable, 
cruel,  irremediable  wrong  they  have  done  you  to  let  your  soul  lie 
dormant,  to  keep  the  sweetness  that  this  heart  of  yours  should 
know  from  blessing  all  your  young  life.  And  this  is  what  the 
world  has  done  for  you.  And  you  love  it!  Poor,  little,  foolish 
Phyllis !  Poor  little  thoughtless  moth !  " 

A  ray  of  winter  sunlight  stealing  through  the  window  glass 
had  touched  the  girl's  dark  head,  and  fallen  across  her  eyes — 
her  beautiful,  tender,  grave  eyes,  bringing  out  the  wonderful  hid- 
den light  in  them.  Phyllis  gazed  at  her  in  rapture.  The  words, 
the  tone  had  touched  something  in  her  bosom — even  as  it  had  been 
touched  six  weeks  before.  She  scarcely  grasped  the  meaning. 
She  knew  one  thing  perfectly,  however — that  could  she  but  enter 
into  the  heart  of  the  girl  standing  above  her  and  understand  her, 
she  would  find  perfect  peace. 


52  THE   FLOWER   OF   RESIGNATION. 

"  You  should  be  one  of  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  so  that 
people  looking  up  to  you  could  grow  better,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  . 

"  You  will  go  home  if  you  talk  to  me  like  that,"  said  Xaviera, 
her  hands  dropping  to  her  sides. 

"Ah,  let  me,"  said  Phyllis.  "Mine  is  not  flattery — it  is 
honest  truth.  I  have  no  envy  of  you.  No  feeling  other  than  that 
of  perfect  joy  when  I  look  at  you.  Honest,  pure  joy.  Let  me 
have  it  while  I  may,  for  it  is  a  rare  thing  to  me.  I  am  older  than 
you,"  she  went  on,  musingly.  "  I  do  actually  believe  that  I  am 
older  than  you.  You  are  excited  at  the  first  sound  of  praise — 
while  I  crave  it,  long  for  it,  live  for  it.  And  they  think  to  keep 
me  hidden  from  the  great  place  where  all  my  life  lies — where 
alone  I  can  be  happy ! " 

"What  did  I  tell  you  when  I  first  saw  you?  Why  do  you 
not  try  to  content  yourself?  Especially  since — since  my  way  is 
not  acceptable  to  you." 

"  Your  way  ?  "  Phyllis  brought  up  her  shoulders  gracefully. 
"  No,  no.  I  am  too  proud  for  that." 

Xaviera  said  nothing.  She  knew  how  useless  any  words  would 
be  against  such  deeply-rooted  false  pride  as  Phyllis  Gordon's. 

"  If  I  could  play  as  well  as  I  know  you  must,"  said  Phyllis, 
easily.  "  And  if  I  had  your  presence — will  you  teach  me  to  turn 
my  head  the  way  you  do,  or  to  lift  my  eyes  in  that  steady,  de- 
termined fashion  ?  If  I  could  do  that  I  would  conquer  the  world, 
and  marry  a  duke !  " 

Xaviera  laughed — a  little,  soft  ripple  of  amusement. 

"  The  price  is  too  high,"  she  said.  "  The  giving  of  one's  self 
— and  at  best  the  title  is  but  an  empty  one.  You  would  find 
it  so.* 


THE   FLOWER   OF  RESIGNATION.  58 

"  You  have  met  dukes  and  earls  and  all  that  sort  in  your 
traveling  around  the  world,  haven't  you?"  went  on  Phyllis, 
eagerly.  "  I  should  love  to  meet  a  real  one — a  genuine  one,  1,  mean. 
What  are  they  like?" 

"  Nothing  out  of  the  ordinary/'  said  Xaviera.  "  Some  of  them 
are  gentlemen." 

"  Is  that  surprising  ?  " 

"  That  is — surprising.     Gentlemen  are  scarce." 

"Now  you  are  sarcastic.  When — when  you  met  them," 
Phyllis  stole  a  glance  at  her  from  under  her  lashes,  "  were  you 
sarcastic  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Xaviera,  wearily.  "  Not  unless  they 
said  things  that  were  not  true.  I  do  not  like  even  white  untruths. 
I  can  not  hear  a  man  or  woman  who  tells  me  lies." 

"  There  are  worse  things  than  white  untruths,"  said  Phyllis, 
thoughtfully.  "  And  you — even  you,  Xaviera  Pomeroy — are  com- 
mitting one  of  them." 

"  I  ?  " 

"  You.  You  are  untrue  to  yourself.  Can  one  hide  one's  gift, 
can  one  bury  it,  put  it  out  of  sight  without  a  pang?  "  She  spoke 
tauntingly  now.  "  What  is  it  they  say  about  buried  talents  ?  What 
will  you  do  when  the  ghost  of  your  lost  art  rises  up  to  mock  you  ? 
Not  now— but  later?  Too  late?" 

Again  Xaviera  stared  at  her.  Where  did  the  young  lips  find 
the  words  ?  How  did  the  frivolous  young  brain  form  the  thoughts  ? 
There  must  be  something — surely  there  must  be  something  worth 
while  underneath.  She  felt  driven  to  self-defense. 

"  When — when  my  brother  died,"  said  Xaviera,  "  the  best 
string  of  my  instrument  snapped.  I  had  no  more  desire — and 
when  my  fingers  touched  the  chords  they  could  only  bring  forth 


54  THE  FLOWER   OF  RESIGNATION. 

in  them  the  heartbreak  of  a  spoiled,  unhappy  life.  No,  no,  child, 
The  soul  of  music  is  dead  within  me." 

There  was  silence  for  a  little  while.  Then  Phyllis  touched 
the  slim  hands  she  loved  and  held  them. 

"  You  overwhelm  me/'  she  said.  "  I  long  to  be  near  you,  I 
long  to  hear  you  speak.  But  you  frighten  me.  There  is  some- 
thing accusing  about  you — something  that  seems  to  set  a  nerve 
within  me  throbbing.  Something  that  hurts  me — and  when  I 
feel  so  I  want  to  get  away  from  you,  even  though  I  know  I  shall 
have  no  peace  until  I  come  again.  Why,  ever  since  that  dayvin 
the  train  I  have  thought  of  nothing  but  you — and  of  the  queer 
things  that  happened — " 

She  closed  her  lips,  afraid  of  the  question  that  might  come 
to  them.  With  sudden  eagerness,  Xaviera  bent  forward. 

"  The  house  on  the  hill !  "  she  said.  "  I  have  thought  of  that, 
too.  Often.  Listen  to  me.  I  had  much  trouble — very  much 
trouble.  And  one  man  more  than  any  other  gave  me  infinite  pain. 
It  was  to  avoid  him  I  came  to  Segrovia.  Now,  under  no  possible 
earthly  conditions  that  I  can  imagine  could  that  man  discover 
where  I  was  or  reach  that  house  on  the  hill.  So  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  that  what  I  saw  was  a  vision — a  chimerical  fancy.  And 
I  meant  to  ask  you  about  it  the  very  first  time  I  saw  you.  You, 
too,  saw  that  sleeping  man  through  the  curtain  on  that  night,  did 
you  not  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Phyllis. 

"  He  was  fair,  with  a  heavy  blonde  mustache,  a  high  forehead, 
with  hair  that  fell  over  his  temples;  a  square  chin,  regular  fea- 
tures— aristocratic,  handsome — " 

"  No,"  said  Phyllis,  slowly.  "  He  did  not  look  like  that.  He 
was  dark.  His  hair  was  black." 


THE   FLOWER   OF   RESIGNATION.  55 

Xaviera's  breath  came  hard.  She  clenched  her  hands  to- 
gether. 

"  Oh,  thank  God/'  she  breathed.  "  Thank  God !  It  was  my 
imagination — "  She  bent  forward  to  look  into  Phyllis*  eyes. 
"  Black  hair,  dark—  Look  at  me  ?  Oh !  " 

For  Phyllis  had  raised  her  innocent  blue  eyes,  and  Xaviera 
read  the  truth  in  them.  She  was  silent. 

"  I  did  not  imagine  it,  then,"  said  Xaviera,  wearily.  "  It  is 
true.  Phyllis,  why  did  you  lie  to  me  ?  " 

Phyllis  buried  her  face  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

"Is  it — so  bad  if  one  tries  to  make  another  happy?"  she 
whispered. 

"Doubly  bad — the  awakening  is  so  much  harder,"  said 
Xaviera.  "  Never  do  it  again,  Phyllis."  And  then  in  an  under- 
tone, "  How  could  he  have  gotten  there ;  how  could  he  have  gotten 
to  the  house  on  the  hill  ?  " 

At  that  moment  Phyllis  felt  as  if  she  were  in  truth  the  elder, 
as  she  put  her  arms  about  the  girl  to  whom  she  was  so  strangely 
drawn. 

"  You  are  in  trouble,"  she  said,  gently.  "  I  know  I  am  foolish 
and  silly,  and  one  that  you  scarcely  can  like  to  talk  to  or  exchange 
confidences  with.  I  wish  you  would  let  me  help  you,  Xaviera,  for 
I  love  you.  And  that  is  the  honest  truth." 

Greatly  touched,  Xaviera  caressed  the  fair  head. 

"  You  are  the  first  of  my  sex  who  ever  told  me  that,"  she  said, 
"and  I  shall  remember  it  and  try  to  care  for  you,  too  little 
Phyllis." 

***** 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Aunt  Mary,"  said  Phyllis.  She 
was  ready  to  go  home,  and  they  stood  together  at  the  door.  "  You 


56  THE   FLOWER   OF   RESIGNATION. 

see,  I  forgot  everything  else  but  you  when  I  came  here.  We've 
had  a  quarrel." 

"  Oh,  yes — you  said  your  trunks  were  packed,"  said  Xaviera, 
in  an  interested  voice. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  do  something  desperate.  Do  you  know 
she  came  into  the  world  three  centuries  too  late,  Xaviera  Pomeroy  ? 
It's  a  crime  for  a  girl  to  walk  about  the  street  without  a  chaperon ! 
Do  you  think  you  could  spare  me  a  half-hour  now — to  walk  with 
me  toward  the  house  so  that  in  case  she  sees  me —  I  ran  away, 
Xaviera." 

"Kan  away?" 

"  Yes.  Waited  until  her  back  was  turned — then  took  my  coat 
and  hat  and  didn't  put  them  on  until  I  got  out  into  the  road. 
Isn't  that  awful?  Imagine  such  restrictions — after  the  life  I've 
known !  But  the  worst  is  still  to  come.  Put  on  your  things  and 
walk  a  little  way  with  me.  Or  are  you  too  busy  ?  " 

"  Not  just  now.  If  I  had  been  busy  I  should  not  have  let  you 
stay  so  long,"  said  Xaviera,  smiling.  "  I'll  tell  Aunt  Winifred, 
and  be  ready  in  a  second." 

Phyllis  did  not  say  any  more  until  they  were  out  on  the 
narrow  paved  street — then  in  an  impressive  voice  she  began  her 
tale. 

"  Aunt  Mary  locks  my  door  at  night — and  takes  the  key  away 
with  her,"  she  said.  "I  shall  never  forget  my  sensations  the 
first  time  I  discovered  it.  I  cried,  then  I  laughed — and  this  last 
few  nights  I  felt  that  I  shall  go  stark,  staring  mad  if  she  keeps 
it  up.  What  would  happen  to  me  if  a  fire  broke  out — and  I'm  so 
afraid  of  fire.  I  have  a  perfect  horror  of  it." 

"  That  is  too  bad,"  said  Xaviera.  "  Doesn't  she  give  you  any 
reason?  Try  to  explain — " 


THE   FLOWER   OF   RESIGNATION.  57 

"  Try  to  explain  ?  Come  up  as  far  as  my  Aunt  Mary's  and  see 
if  you  think  you  could  explain  anything  to  her." 

"  I  would  not  like  to  do  that.  She  might  resent  a  stranger's 
interference." 

"No.  She  will  forgive  me  anything,  because  I  satisfy  her 
curiosity.  She  is  dying  to  see  Magdalen  Pomeroy's  niece.  That 
wasn't  your  Aunt  Magdalen  I  saw  ?  " 

"  No — Winifred.    Aunt  Magdalen  is  much — " 

"  She  is  very  despotic — and  tyrannical —  Oh,  I  beg  your  par- 
don." Phyllis  blushed.  "  You  see  how  gossip  will  out.  I  have 
been  pitying  you." 

"  Aunt  Magdalen  has  had  much  trouble,"  said  Xaviera.  "  It 
is  scarcely  fair  to  judge  her  by  the  standards  of  other  people." 

"  Especially  by  Segrovian  standards.  No — I  should  have 
liked  her  because  the  others  do  not." 

"Yes,"  said  Xaviera,  "since  you  do  everything  by  contra- 
ries." 

"You  have  taught  me  a  great  deal  this  morning.  If  Aunt 
Mary  is  half-way  decent,  I  may —  Well,  out  of  those  things  we 
most  despise  something  can  arise  to  smooth  away  our  discontent — 
even  as  a  flower  may  spring  from  the  most  downtrodden  earth." 

And  again  Xaviera  looked  at  her  strangely. 

"  Perhaps  the  flower  of  resignation  ?  " 

"  I  can  not  give  it  a  name,"  said  Phyllis.  "  I  can  not  give  it 
a  name." 


58  THE   APPARITION. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  APPARITION. 

"Miss  PHYLLIS,  Miss  Phyllis!  Oh!  Mrs.  Browne  is  so 
frightened !  She  has  had  us  hunting  for  you  everywhere !  We  had 
to  leave  our  work,  and  your  aunt  herself  has  gone  out  to  look  for 
you.  She  was  afraid  something  might  have  happened — that  you 
were  lost — and  she  has  taken  the  mountain  road  up  to  the 
forest—" 

"  Where,  I  suppose,  she  thinks  I  have  hanged  myself !  " 

Fanny  drew  back,  nonplussed  at  the  harshness  of  the  girl's 
voice. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Phyllis,  impatiently.  "  Now  that  I  am 
neither  lost,  strayed,  nor  stolen,  go  back  to  your  interrupted  house- 
hold tasks.  Send  some  one  after  my  respectable  aunt  too,  if  you 
please,  and  inform  her  that  I  am  still  alive.  Will  you  follow  me, 
Miss  Pomeroy?" 

The  girl  had  been  thrown  into  a  towering  rage  by  the  servant's 
well-meant  words.  The  self-restrained  Xaviera  looked  annoyed  at 
this  outburst,  but  she  said  nothing.  The  softened  mood  of  a  half- 
hour  ago  had  vanished.  She  was  to  learn  a  new  phase  of  this 
undisciplined  nature.  Heretofore,  she  had  seen  her  at  her  best, 
and  had  pitied  her.  Now  she  was  to  have  a  glimpse  of  her  char- 
acter in  ordinary  attire. 

"  There  are  no  carpets  in  this  wonderful  villa — they  are  germ- 
gatherers,"  said  Phyllis,  mockingly.  "We  have  no  unnecessary 
luxury." 


THE   APPARITION.  59 

And  yet  the  house  was  charming.  It  was  bright,  peaceful, 
comfortable,  and  the  carpetless  stairs  fairly  shone.  The  room 
into  which  Phyllis  conducted  her  visitor  was  simple  indeed;  but 
cleanliness  made  it  look  like  a  jewel-case.  From  the  one  big 
window  there  was  the  view  of  the  mountains — near  and  distant, 
blue  and  gray  and  golden;  a  little  frozen  brook  down  in  the 
yalley;  the  sky  rendered  clearer  by  the  frosty  air,  and  stretching 
far  and  away  to  meet  the  glorious,  sun-kissed,  shining  mountain- 
tops.  Xaviera's  first  glance  was  for  the  window.  She  caught  her 
breath. 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  Phyllis,  how  very  beau- 
tiful!" 

"  In  comparison  to  that  hole  you  occupy  ?  "  said  Phyllis,  cut;- 
tingty.  "  All  goes  by  comparison — everything.  I  can't  bear  it." 

"You  can't  bear  what?" 

"  All  this — the  room,  the  bareness,  the  cold.  The  mountains 
and  sky  and  valley.  Xaviera,  I  shall  go  mad." 

u  If  you  harp  on  that  string,  I  perforce  must  harp  on  mine," 
said  Xaviera,  a  shade  of  contempt  creeping  into  her  voice. 
"  There  is  one  great  thing  necessary  in  this  world.  You  musi 
work.  Not  for  a  living,  as  I  do — but  you  must  occupy  your  idle 
hands  with  something.  Heretofore  I  have  not  told  you  of  even  a 
greater  lack,  because  I  do  not  know  what  attitude  you  condescend 
to  hold  toward  your  Creator.  But  surely  you  believe  in  Him? 
And  what  was  good  enough  for  Him  should  be  good  enough  for 
you !  He  was  not  ashamed  to  work — and  He  has  made  work  the 
penalty  of  our  existence  here  and  hereafter —  Oh,  I  know !  I  can 
read  your  expression.  You  think  I  am  preaching.  I  am  telling 
you  of  that  which  is  as  needful  to  your  daily  happiness  as  the  food 
that  sustains  life." 


60  THE   APPARITION. 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  Catholic,"  said  Phyllis,  almost  in  contempt. 

"  I  am — thank  God,"  said  Xaviera. 

"  What  shall  I  win  by  it  ?  Show  me  what  I  shall  win  by  it—- 
and let  the  prize  be  ever  so  small,  I  shall  strive.  Show  me." 

Xaviera  turned  to  the  window  again. 

"  I  am  finding  the  fruits  of  it  daily." 

Phyllis  grasped  her  arm,  her  eyes  flashing. 

"  What  have  you  won  ?    Tell  me,  what  have  you  won  ?  " 

"  Peace,"  said  Xaviera.  "  Satisfaction,  ease  of  conscience, 
content." 

"  Peace — satisfaction — content !  How  can  you  say  such  words 
to  me,  you  who  are  a  lover  of  truth  ?  What  peace  or  satisfaction 
or  content  can  you  know — when  you  remember — the  house  on  the 
hill?" 

It  was  a  daring  question — it  was  c,  cruel  question — this  ques- 
tion of  Phyllis  Gordon's  unthinking  little  soul.  The  force  of  it 
drove  every  drop  of  blood  from  Xaviera's  face.  For  it  was  a 
question  she  had  striven  not  to  ask  herself.  Yet  her  steady  eyes 
did  not  falter. 

"  My  God  has  come  to  me,"  she  said.  "  What  pain  is  mine  is 
through  no  fault  of  mine.  And  in  the  still  watches  of  the  night 
I  know  that  God's  great  love  enfolds  me — and  that  the  way  leads 
beyond  to  peace,  to  satisfaction,  to  content." 

"  I  am  not  Xaviera  Pomeroy,"  said  Phyllis,  in  that  cold,  shrill 
voice  of  hers.  "  I  am  not  the  girl  whose  performances  on  the  harp 
three  years  ago  set  Europe  by  the  ears !  Yes,  I  know  you — I  have 
asked  of  those  who  did  know  you,  and  I  have  questioned.  Is  yours 
such  a  common  name  that  people  can  not  find  trace  of  you  ?  Why 
may  not  we  exchange  personalities,  since  you  will  not  use  and  do 
not  need  the  grace  the  God  you  speak  of  has  given  you — your 


THE   APPARITION.  01 

talents,  your  magnetism  ?  People  hate  me.  Even  you  dislike  me 
now — yes,  your  dislike  is  near  to  hatred  just  at  this  moment.  I 
possess  nothing  but  my  face — I  am  mean  and  I  am  malicious,  and 
I  am  untruthful.  I  have  nothing.  You  despise  me.  There  is 
room  for  nothing  but  ambition  in  my  soul.  I  am  not  independent, 
and  yet  wish  to  impress  upon  people  that  I  am.  I  am  proud — yet 
I  crawl  before  you — " 

"  I  can  not  listen,"  said  Xaviera.  "  I  am  going  home.  I  can 
not  listen." 

"I  believed  in  love,  and  in  God,"  cried  Phyllis,  her  hanti 
pressed  to  her  heaving  bosom.  "But  they  took  my  belief  away 
from  me.  They  said  that  God  was  a  fable — that  there  was  but  the 
one  god,  and  his  name  is  Mammon.  Then  I  believed  in  love — I 
would  make  love  my  god.  I,  found  out,  too,  that  it  was  the  dream 
they  called  it.  I  believe  in  nothing.  I  am  nothing.  I  will  be 
nothing.  Disprove  it  to  me." 

At  that  moment  a  great  desire  to  win  this  rebellious  creature 
came  over  Xaviera  Pomeroy.  She  saw,  with  those  last  words,  that 
some  hidden  bitterness  stirred  in  Phyllis  Gordon's  mind — that  she 
had  suffered  and  was  suffering.  She  wished  to  draw  out  the  knife 
from  the  wound  wherein  it  rankled. 

"  What  are  you  but  nothing  ?  "  she  said,  gravely.  She  turned 
her  head.  There  was  one  way  to  conquer  Phyllis,  and  that  was 
by  contempt.  To  a  great  degree,  heretofore,  she  had  kept  tHe 
contempt  from  her  face — but  now  she  gave  it  full  play.  "  I  can 
not  prove  you  otherwise  by  the  things  of  the  flesh  you  crave,  nor 
by  the  false  world  that  has  taught  you  the  canting  speech  you 
frame.  Yet  will  you  dare  to  trust  yourself  to  me?  One  by  one 
I  shall  show  you  what  things  you  lack,  and  what  things  you 
should  strive  for — " 


62  THE   APPARITION. 

"  Phyllis !    You  are  here ! " 

The  thin,  precise  old  lady  whom  Xaviera  remembered  having 
seen  once  before  on  the  station  entered  the  room  without  cere- 
mony, interrupting  the  girl's  intense  words. 

"  Where  were  you  ?  "  went  on  the  aunt,  her  face  very  stern, 
her  manner  peremptory. 

"I  called  on  Miss  Pomeroy,"  said  Phyllis.  "And  then  per- 
suaded her  to  return  with  me.  Allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  my 
aunt,  Mrs.  Browne,  Miss  Pomeroy." 

Her  tones  were  cold,  her  manner  that  of  one  performing  a 
painful  duty.  Aunt  Mary's  eyes  sought  Xaviera's  face  scruti- 
nizingly,  curiously.  That  gaze  was  the  gaze  of  the  world  about  her. 
Xaviera  felt  this,  and  bore  it  with  the  steadiness  of  one  who  has 
learned  perfect  self-control. 

"  If  Miss  Pomeroy's  influence  over  you  is  such  as  to  make  you 
set  at  naught  the  express  wishes  of  your  guardians,"  said  Aunt 
Mary,  haughtily,  "  it  would  be  better  for  it  to  be  removed  at  once." 

Not  a  muscle  stirred — not  an  eyelash  wavered.  The  Honor- 
able Mrs.  Browne  was  not  capable  of  rousing  resentment. 

"  I  asked  her  to  come  here  with  me  to  convince  herself  that 
what  I  told  her  was  true — that  I  can  stay  in  this  wretched  house 
no  longer !  "  said  Phyllis. 

"  Stay — here — no — longer !  "  Aunt  Mary  gasped.  "  How  dare 
you?" 

"  I  dare  anything." 

"  And  where,  may  I  ask,  do  you  intend  to  go  ?  " 

"  Back  to  Xew  York." 

Mrs.  Browne  sniffed. 

"  Even  if  the  roads  were  passable — and  they  have  never  been 
since  that  fall  of  snow  on  Christmas  day,  two  weeks  ago — you 


THE    APPARITION.  68 

could  not  reach  the  Gordons.  They  will  not  have  you.  Your 
pardon,  Miss  Pomeroy,  for  airing  family  troubles — but  I  daresay 
they  are  not  new  to  you.  My  niece  seems  to  have  little  sense  of 
discretion." 

"Ah!  "said  Phyllis. 

"If  you  absolutely  refuse  to  remain,  of  course  I  shall  not 
detain  you  against  your  will.  But  you  are  under  age,  and  by  con- 
sent of  your  guardian — who  is  your  Uncle  Edward,  you  will  re- 
member— you  shall  be  placed  in  an  institution  for  the  next  year 
and  a  half." 

Phyllis  was  speechless.  The  old  lady,  feeling  that  she  had 
spoken  too  harshly,  continued,  in  a  milder  tone : 

"  I  want  to  do  what  is  right — but  you  frustrate  me  at  every 
turn.  You  know  what  my  position  in  Segrovia  is,  and  how. 
anxious  I  am  to  maintain  it.  A  nice  scandal  it  would  create  when 
folks  discovered  that  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Browne's  niece  stole 
away  in  the  night — " 

"  Is  that  why  you  locked  the  door  ?  "  asked  Phyllis,  suddenly. 
"  Why,  if  I  wanted  to  get  away  would  the  locking  of  a  door  stop 
me?" 

"  People  would  not  handle  you  any  too  carefully  if  such  a 
story  went  the  rounds,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  evasively.  "  If  I  were 
you,  I  would  think  of  that.  A  year  is  not  such  a  long  while — " 

She  had  touched  the  girl's  self-love — nevertheless  her  heart 
was  sore  and  wounded.  She  raised  her  eyes  from  the  floor  to  where 
Xaviera  stood,  silent  a'nd  immovable. 

"  Advise  me,"  she  said.    "  Advise  me,  Xaviera." 

"  Stay,"  said  Xaviera,  quickly.  "  Your  aunt  speaks  the  truth. 
Perhaps  she  will  omit  making  you  a  prisoner  hereafter  if  you  put 
the  case  before  her  in  its  right  light." 


64  THE   APPARITION. 

"Dr.  Fawcett  is  downstairs,  madam/'  said  Fanny,  thrusting 
in  her  head. 

Aunt  Mary  breathed  more  freely. 

"  Fanny  will  unpack  your  trunks.  I  shall  expect  you  in  the 
drawing-room  in  ten  minutes.  Good-by,  Miss  Pomeroy." 

She  bowed  her  head  condescendingly,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Old  dragon !  "  muttered  Phyllis. 

"  You  will  not  talk  like  that  while  with  me/'  said  Xaviera, 
warningly. 

"Now,  Xaviera,  you're  human  and  you  know  you're  angry. 
She  said—" 

"  Never  mind  what  she  said.  She  was  angry,  not  I.  She  will 
think  better  of  me  in  a  little  while.  But  it  all  depends  upon  you." 

"Upon  me?" 

"  Yes.  She  mentioned  my  influence  over  you."  Xaviera  hesi- 
tated— then,  as  if  by  a  great  effort  went  over  to  Phyllis  and 
clasped  her  in  her  arms,  kissing  her.  "  Let  me  see  what  that  in- 
fluence can  do  with  you — if  it  can  make  you  the  true  and 
noble  woman  you  should  be,  Phyllis." 

But  Phyllis  was  the  child  again,  staring  at  her  with  the  rapt 
expression  she  had  worn  in  the  little  parlor  of  the  Pomeroy  house. 

"  On  one  condition — that  I  go  to  you  every  day." 

"  You  forget — I  have  work  to  do." 

"  I  will  be  quiet — I  shall  just  run  in  to  look  at  you — and  then 
out  again.  Now  if  Aunt  Mary  had  asked  you  down  to  the  drawing- 
room — "  she  frowned. 

"No— I  am  a  stranger  to  her — only  the  niece  of  the  dress- 
makers— learning  the  trade  myself.  Be  reasonable,  Phyllis;  you 
must  not  expect  too  much.  Good-by  until  to-morrow." 

Fanny  came,  and  following  her,  Xaviera  made  her  way  out 


THE   APPARITION.  68 

through  one  of  the  side  doors,  quickly  finding  herself  on  the  road 
toward  home.  She  was  thinking  deeply — for  the  first  time  in 
snany  months  she  was  interested  in  human  beings.  It  was  a  sign 
that  she  was  recovering  her  mental  poise.  Strangely  enough,  she 
felt  happy,  too.  Every  day  she  got  up  she  thanked  God  that  He 
had  brought  her  to  this  refuge — this  haven.  And  now  others  were 
coming  to  her  for  help  and  guidance.  She  was  glad  to  find  the 
old  desire  to  aid  them  striving  within  her.  It  showed  that  the 
human  side  of  her  was  not  the  dead  thing  she  had  supposed  it  to  be. 

"  Poor  little  creature,"  she  said.  She  was  thinking  of  Phyllis. 
"  Perhaps  she  is  braver  than  I  in  saying  she  loves  the  world.  It 
has  treated  and  is  treating — " 

Two  gentlemen  were  approaching  her — both  dressed  in  sport- 
ing costume,  and  with  guns  and  gamebags  slung  across  their 
shoulders.  Both  were  staring  at  the  girl  long  before  she  saw  them. 
She  raised  her  eyes,  conscious  of  their  presence.  One  was  a 
stranger ;  the  other — 

A  sudden  pallor  covered  her  face.  Her  footsteps  slackened, 
her  heart  began  to  beat  madly.  Ah,  no!  It  was  a  phantom,  a 
resemblance,  merely!  God  would  not  let  it  happen!  That  he 
should  come  to  Segrovia ! 

Aunt  Winifred  was  at  home  alone.  Magdalen  Pomeroy  had 
gone  into  the  town  with  some  finished  dresses.  When  Xaviera 
entered  and  her  aunt  saw  her  expression  she  sprang  to  her  feet 
in  alarm. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  cried.  "  You  are  ill,  Xaviera  ?  You  have 
walked  too  fast,  too  far !  Now  why  will  you  put  yourself  in  such 
a  condition,  dear  child  ?  " 

There  was  great  kindness  in  her  voice.  The  girl  sat  down 
heavily  on  the  sofa,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  She  was 


66  THE   APPARITION. 

afraid.  The  look  of  high  resolve  had  left  that  pale  countenance, 
and  the  "  sadness  that  was  unto  death  "  had  taken  possession  of 
her  once  more.  Aunt  Winifred  asked  herself  what  secret  trouble 
preyed  upon  this  mind?  What  burden  weighed  upon  this  great, 
strong  soul?  What  battle  was  it  that  waged  so  fiercely  in  this 
slender  frame? 

From  the  very  moment  of  her  installation  as  a  member  of  their 
household  both  sisters  had  noticed  her  determination — a  deter- 
mination to  succeed  that  never  allowed  her  a  moment's  rest.  She 
did  not  inherit  that  spirit  from  her  father.  Nor  from  her  mother. 
From  whom,  then  ? 

Winifred  knew — for  Xaviera  was  her  sister  Magdalen  over 
again.  Her  sister  Magdalen  had  failed — and  the  failure  had  em- 
bittered her,  estranged  her  from  all  that  made  life  worth  living — 
nay,  she,  who  had  been  so  pious  and  so  gentle,  gave  up  God  Him- 
self, because  of  that  one  failure.  Would  Xaviera  act  eo  ?  Would 
Xaviera  succeed  in  the  resolve  to  forget  that  outside  world  from 
which  she  came  ?  And  if  she  did  not,  if  she  could  not,  what  would 
be  the  consequences? 

"We  are  surprised — Magdalen  and  I — that  you  do  so  splen- 
didly/' said  Aunt  Winifred,  now,  in  her  soft  voice.  "  Discourage- 
ment comes  to  every  one — no  matter  how  well  others  think  she 
is  getting  along.  Perhaps  you  stay  in  the  house  too  much — you 
are  not  used  to  it.  Let  your  Aunt  Winnie  prescribe  a  good  cup 
of  tea  for  you — and  send  you  out  for  a  long,  long  walk.  Do  not 
come  back  for  an  hour." 

She  went  inside  and  brought  her  a  cup  of  tea,  her  panacea  for 
all  ills.  Xaviera  rose  waveringly  to  her  feet. 

"Thank  you,  Aunt  Winifred,"  she  said.  "Thank  you.  It 
will  do  me  good,  I  know.  And  I  must  get  out  into  the  air — I  shall 


THE   APPARITION.  6T 

stifle  if  I  stay  in  any  longer.  Do  not  worry  about  me — I  may  be 
late  coming  home." 

She  had  never  gone  down  the  path  she  had  taken  from  the 
station  since  the  day  of  her  arrival — in  fact  she  had  been  out  very 
little  save  to  church.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  it  had  grown 
perceptibly  colder.  Xaviera  did  not  remember  that  she  was  a 
stranger  and  unacquainted  with  the  country,  that  to  wander  very 
far  away,  especially  at  this  hour,  in  the  direction  whither  the 
path  led  now,  was  dangerous.  She  could  not  think.  Some  great 
shock  had  deprived  her  soul  of  its  fortitude.  She  stumbled  on 
blindly,  seeing  nothing.  Nor  did  she  take  any  note  of  time. 

Fine  little  bits  of  sleet  struck  against  her  face.  She  paused  in 
her  aimless  walk — it  was  beginning  to  snow.  She  had  branched 
off  at  the  crossroads  and  plunged  along  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
winding  up  at  the  station.  She  was  far  from  home,  that  she 
realized — an  hour's  good  walk.  But  she  could  easily  reach  it  in 
an  hour.  She  was  glad  of  the  snow,  and  of  the  gusts  of  wind,  and 
of  the  storm.  She  set  her  teeth.  Here  was  something  to  fight  in 
earnest — something  material.  The  bridge  was  crossed — and  there, 
dark  and  still,  nestled  the  little  cottage  that  had  been  her  haven 
on  that  first  evening,  and  whose  owner  had  been  so  kind  to  her. 
She  was  tired.  Here  she  would  rest.  And  she  would  thank  her 
for  her  friendliness. 

With  numbed  fingers  she  pushed  the  gate  open,  and  rapped 
upon  the  door.  Even  as  she  did  so,  an  impulse  came  over  her  to 
fly.  Why  did  she  stop  here?  What  comfort  could  this  woman 
give  her?  She  would  talk— only  talk — and  surely  she  could  not 
stand  the  sound  of  a  human  voice  now.  Steps  came  along  the 
passageway — the  next  instant  the  door  was  thrown  open.  Every 
wrinkle  in  the  well-remembered  face  seemed  as  familiar  as  if  she 


68  THE  APPARITION. 

had  known  her  all  her  life.  Gazing  at  her,  Xaviera  was  glad  she 
had  obeyed  her  impulse. 

"  You ! "  said  the  old  woman,  in  accents  of  deepest  surprise, 
and  yet  with  a  strange  joy.  And  again,  "  You,  you,  you ! "  in 
tones  of  delight.  "  I'm  so  happy  that  you  have  come."  She  was 
drawing  her  inside  even  as  she  spoke.  "  It  is  bitter  cold  outdoors 
— and  the  wind !  I  have  been  listening  to  the  howling  of  the  wind 
this  last  hour — there  will  be  a  bad  storm  to-night.  Why  have  you 
ventured  out  ?  Tell  me."  She  peered  at  her  anxiously.  "  This 
is  not  to  keep  your  word — you  are  not  leaving  Segrovia  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Xaviera.  The  trembling  old  voice  filled  her 
with  strange  longing.  "  Worse  than  a  storm  is  threatening,"  she 
went  on.  "  Worse  than  a  storm  is  threatening  me." 

The  choked  voice,  the  pinched  features,  the  evident  misery  of 
the  girl  made  the  old  woman  gaze  at  her  more  anxiously  still. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said,  "  and  rest,  and  have  a  glass  of  wine  to 
warm  you,  if  you  must  go  out  again." 

Xaviera  followed  her  into  the  sitting-room.  Everything  was 
as  she  remembered  it.  Plain  and  poor  indeed,  in  its  furnishings 
— very  plain  and  poor,  but  exquisitely  neat.  At  one  side  stood 
a  deal  table  on  which  were  crucifix  and  holy  water  font,  with  a 
prayer-stool,  its  cushion  much  worn  from  constant  usage.  Xaviera, 
without  a  word,  sank  upon  her  knees  before  the  image  of  her 
Saviour.  She  raised  her  eyes — burning  eyes  set  in  pallid  face — 
and  her  lips  moved. 

"  Give  me  strength,"  she  prayed.  "  Since  I  am  denied  peace 
just  yet,  dear  Lord,  give  me  strength." 

"You  will  stay — if  only  for  a  little  while?"  asked  Mrs. 
Thornton. 

"  "No  one  ever  comes  here  ?  "  asked  Xaviera,  apathetically.    She 


THE   APPARITION.  W 

did  not  think  of  the  queerness  of  the  question.  She  felt  unreal, 
miserable.  She  felt  that  she  was  asleep — and  she  longed  to  wake 
from  the  frightful  nightmare  oppressing  her.  All  she  said  and 
did  seemed  mechanical. 

"  No,  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  meeting  any  one/'  said  Mrs. 
Thornton.  "I  am  a  widow — as  you  know,  dear — and  have  no 
relatives  who  would  care  to  seek  me.  Perhaps  it  is  not  good  for 
one  so  old  to  be  alone."  She  was  standing  at  the  little  table  in  the 
center  of  the  room,  handling  the  two  thin  glasses  she  had  brought 
in  on  a  cut-glass  tray.  It  gave  Xaviera  a  certain  sense  of  pleas- 
ure to  notice  the  delicacy  of  her  movements.  "  Human  nature  is 
all  alike,  child.  No  one  of  us  is  meant  to  live  apart  from  his 
fellow-man." 

"  The  only  boon  I  ask/'  said  Xaviera,  "  is  to  be  let  live  my  life 
alone." 

"It  will  come,"  said  her  old  friend,  comfortingly.  "It  will 
come." 

And  then  she  drifted  off  into  the  past  and  Xaviera,  more  than 
willing,  followed  her.  She  told  her  much  of  her  own  family  his- 
tory, and  the  girl  listened,  the  words,  the  voice,  the  cultured 
intonation  of  the  woman  seeming  to  soothe  the  fever  in  her  breast. 

After  a  brief  space  silence  fell  between  them.  Xaviera's 
dark  head  rested  easily  on  the  back  of  her  chair;  once  more 
that  quietness,  that  repose  of  exterior  that  was  her  chief  char- 
acteristic had  a  chance  to  assert  itself. 

"  I  am  told  you  are  a  brave  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton.  "  I 
have  heard  it  said  that  the  Misses  Pomeroy  will  not  lose  custom 
through  their  niece.  Is  that  true?  You  have  really  entered  into 
the  life  they  lead  up  there  ?  " 

"Really,"  said  Xaviera. 


70  THE  APPARITION. 

"  Have  they  ever  mentioned  my  name  to  you  ?  "  She  gave  her 
a  curious  side  glance. 

"  Never/'  said  the  girl.  "  They  are  not  communicative.  And 
I,  too,  am  reticent.  I  have  never  mentioned  that  my  first  night 
in  Segrovia  was  spent  under  your  roof." 

"  That  is  just  as  well.  They  will  not  care  to  hear  my  name, 
child.  Prejudice  is  very  strong  in  the  old — do  not  annoy  your 
aunts  by  repeating  it.  But  I  have  often  longed  for  you  since. 
One  evening  I  walked  all  the  way  up  there  to  see  if  I  could  get 
just  a  glimpse  of  you.  I  saw  your  shadow  on  the  blind — I  knew 
your  straight  figure  at  once.  Though  Magdalen  Pomeroy  is  as 
straight  as  you  are  to-day.  Are  you  fond  of  your  Aunt  Mag- 
dalen?" 

"  She  will  not  let  me  be,"  answered  Xaviera. 

"  She  and  I  were  dear  friends  once — we  loved  each  other  pas- 
sionately." 

"You— and  she?" 

"  Yes.  Now  there  is  no  love  left.  Only  on  my  side.  I  love 
her  still." 

"  But  why— " 

"Magdalen  would  not  marry  William  Thornton  because  of 
Frank,  your  father.  Even  to  me  she  did  not  tell  her  thoughts — it 
was  four  years  afterward  that  he  asked  me,  and  I  consented." 

"  Aunt  Magdalen—" 

"  No — she  was  not  angry,  then.  But  afterward —  I  can  not 
tell  you  any  more.  She  loved  William — and  he — loved  her — first. 
Magdalen  was  very  proud  and  haughty  underneath.  I  do  not 
think  she  and  William  would  have  been  happy." 

"Were  you?" 

"  With  my  husband  ?    Ah,  yes,  ah,  yes.    He  was  a  good,  good 


THE   APPARITION.  71 

man.  I  thought  Magdalen  would  be  glad.  She  said  she  was — 
she  wrote  me  that  she  was.  I  did  not  marry  him  here  in  Segrovia. 
I  was  away.  That  is  very  long  ago.  I  often  think  of  it,  and 
despite  my  happiness  with  him,  perhaps  it  would  have  been  better 
had  we  not  married.  I  have  had  a  sorrowful  life.  The  only 
thing  comforts  me  is  that  God  knows  best." 

She  spoke  with  the  hopelessness  of  one  who  has  found  the  road 
a  dreary  one.  Then  she  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

"I  stood  watching  you  a  full  hour.  What  do  you  do  up 
there  in  your  room  alone  ?  " 

"I  have  just  got  it  into  order/'  answered  Xaviera,  touched 
by  this  evidence  of  interest  in  her.  "  And  now  I  am  laying  out  a 
course  of  reading  for  myself.  I  have  had  so  little  chance  to  read. 
And  I  write — " 

"  You— write— " 

"  Oh,  not  that  way.  Simply  keep  a  record  of  my  thoughts. 
Sometimes,  when  my  mind  has  been  wandering  very  far  afield  it 
takes  a  long  time  to  get  those  thoughts  into  shape  for  the  diary 
he  will  never  see.  Poor  brother ! "  she  finished,  under  her  breath. 

"Ah,  well,  ah,  well!" 

"  Now  that  I  am  settled,  you  will  come — " 

Mrs.  Thornton  shrank. 

"  No,  not  to  the  Pomeroys.  You  will  understand  from  what  I 
have  told  you  that  I  can  not  go  there,  dear.  Magdalen  Pomeroy — " 

"  Aunt  Magdalen  is  old — she  can  not  cherish  any  ill-feeling — " 
Xaviera  paused;  those  burning  eyes,  that  proud  old  face  came 
before  her.  And  Muriel  Thornton  interpreted  the  pause. 

"  I  see  you  know  your  Aunt  Magdalen.  Tell  me — try  to  think 
back  a  little.  I  did  not  care  to  ask  you  many  questions  that  night 
you  were  here.  You  are  sure  you  can  not  remember  your  mother  ?" 


73  THE   APPARITION. 

"  No,"  said  Xaviera.    "  You  knew  her,  too — " 

"  Your  father  was  a  good-natured,  happy,  boyish  fellow.  Every 
one  loved  Frank  Pomeroy.  To  think  that  all  should  be  taken. 
All,  all,  all,  and  only  the  old  are  left ! " 

But  Xaviera  persisted. 

"  Why  will  you  not  tell  me  of  my  mother  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Surely 
you  knew  my  mother — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton.  "  I  knew  your  mother — she  who 
took  that  boy  from  his  home  and  from  Magdalen — and  carried 
him  off  with  her  into  the  world  to  die !  Surely  I  knew  of  her." 

Xaviera  rose. 

"If  they  loved  each  other?"  she  asked,  her  dark  eyes  on 
Muriel  Thornton's  face.  "  Is  it  such  a  crime  to  love  and  marry  in 
Segrovia  ?  Was  it  wrong  ?  Was  it  wrong  ?  Why  should  you  blame 
her  ?  "  and  her  voice  rose  high.  "  Did  you  not  love  and  marry 
as  well  as  she?" 

The  old  woman's  head  sank  upon  her  breast. 

"  Not  you,"  she  said.  "  Do  not  turn  against  me — you,  of  all 
others — " 

"No,"  said  Xaviera.  "No.  You  see,  I  do  not  understand. 
No  one  will  tell  me.  What  was  wrong  in  two  people  falling  in 
love,  and  marrying,  and  making  their  own  lives — even  if  the 
path  they  trod  led  them  away  from  Segrovia  ?  You  should  have 
heard  the  Frank  Pomeroy  you  praise  speak  of  the  woman  who 
was  our  mother.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  now  for  his  daughter  to 
look  back  upon — the  tenderness  he  felt  for  his  children's  mother." 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  chimed  the  hour.  Xaviera  listened 
incredulously. 

"  Eleven !  "  she  said.  "  Eleven  o'clock !  How  dreadfully  late 
I  shall  be.  I  must  go — I  won't  reach  my  aunts'  until  near  mid* 


THE   APPARITION.  78 

night.  Good-night."  She  moved  hastily  to  the  door.  "I  will 
come  again,  soon — soon,"  she  called  back,  as  she  moved  with 
quick  steps  out  into  the  dark. 

The  storm  had  set  in  fairly  now,  and  the  wind  was  shrieking 
and  tearing  at  the  rattling  branches  of  the  trees.  But  Xaviera 
was  not  afraid.  The  storm  in  her  breast  had  subsided,  partly,  and 
she  was  not  thinking  of  her  own  trouble  as  she  set  out  bravely 
along  the  lonely  way.  She  was  a  little  annoyed  that  she  had 
stayed  so  late — disturbed  for  fear  that  her  aunts  might  be  worried 
concerning  her  whereabouts.  She  had  a  hard  fight  against  the 
wind — and  she  stood  still  a  moment,  holding  up  her  muff  to  pro- 
tect her  nose  and  mouth.  And  then,  without  a  single  'premonition, 
her  limbs  began  to  tremble.  She  was  frightened — miserably 
frightened.  Above  the  shriek  of  the  wind  she  imagined  that  she 
heard  a  rough  laugh.  With  straining  ears  she  bent  to  listen. 
There  it  was  again !  She  had  surely  come  half  the  distance.  Fear 
lent  wings  to  her  feet.  Ten  minutes'  walk — no  more — and  she 
would  be  home.  Nothing  could  happen  to  her — what  could 
happen  to  her — who  was  abroad  on  such  a  night  as  this?  Thus 
her  sinking  heart  tried  to  buoy  up  her  woman's  frightened  soul. 
And  even  as  she  tried  to  gather  courage  in  this  way,  out  of  the 
darkness  a  man's  figure  took  shape  and  substance,  barring  her 
path. 

She  fettered  backward.  The  thing  was  so  unexpected,  BO 
sudden,  that  all  strength  seemed  to  leave  her.  Her  senses  reeled. 
Then,  still  holding  her  muff  so  that  it  covered  her  face,  she  sought 
to  pass  him  by,  but  he  put  his  hand  out,  holding  her  by  the  arm. 
In  the  very  teeth  of  the  storm  he  was  smoking,  and  he  puffed  at 
his  cigar  go  that  its  red  end  glowed,  and  putting  up  his  other 
hand  drew  the  shield  away.  Her  frightened,  terrified  eyes  met 


74  THE   APPARITION. 

his.  He  laughed  a  low  laugh  of  triumph,  and  releasing  her, 
passed  on  without  a  word. 

And  Xaviera  stood  as  a  statue  might.  She  could  not  move. 
Her  limbs  were  frozen,  not  with  cold,  but  horror.  The  snow 
settled  upon  her  coat,  rested  thick  upon  her  hair.  She  felt  noth- 
ing, knew  nothing. 

Then  some  one  came  up  behind  her,  stopped,  spoke,  received  no 
reply.  He  took  her  by  the  arm.  She  thought  it  was  the  man 
who  had  left  her,  returning,  but  her  throat  was  paralyzed.  She 
could  not  cry  out.  She  could  do  nothing,  say  nothing. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  a  strange  voice — a  harsh  and  cutting 
voice.  "  A  madwoman,  that  is  certain  and  sure,  if  nothing  else, 
to  seek  your  death  in  this  fashion.  Or  is  this  a  more  up-to-date 
style  of  committing  suicide — to  freeze  standing  ?  Who  are  you  ?  " 

The  calm  contempt  of  that  voice  was  the  one  thing  needed 
to  rouse  the  girl  from  the  fearful  stupor  into  which  her  fright 
had  thrown  her.  This,  this  was  the  end  of  all !  She  was  stung 
to  the  quick.  She  had  suffered  much  in  the  world  from  which  she 
came,  but  at  least  in  their  conversation  they  had  been  deferent. 
A  feeling  of  self-hatred  filled  her  proud  heart.  She,  who  had 
sacrificed  so  much  that  she  might  be  let  alone —  What  was  thii 
daring  stranger — 

"  Who  are  you?  Where  is  your  home? "  asked  the  gentleman 
again — and  this  time  quite  impatiently.  He  shook  her  arm  once  or 
twice  to  emphasize  his  insistence  on  a  reply. 

"I  have  had  many  homes,"  said  Xaviera,  in  a  tense  voice. 
"  And  I  have  been  many  things.  But  nothing,  so  far,  that  can 
compel  the  courteous  attention  of  a  gentleman  on  a  public  road. 
I  will  thank  you  to  go  on  about  your  business,  and  leave  me  to 
follow  mine," 


THE  APPARITION.  75 

The  man  was  dumbfounded.  For  an  instant  his  eyes  glared 
at  her. 

"You  are  Magdalen  Pomeroy's  niece,"  he  said.  "Do  you 
know  what  hour  it  is  ?  Do  you  know  that  in  a  storm  such  as  this, 
if  you  wander  much  farther  you  are  apt  to  perish  in  the  snow?  " 

"  Thank  you.  My  feet  are  not  wandering — neither  is  my  head. 
I  know  the  way  perfectly.  I  will  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will 
release  my  arm." 

"I  must  at  least  accompany  you  to  your  home.  You  are  a 
newcomer  here,"  he  said,  in  cold  accents.  "  Seldom  are  any  of  the 
old  residents  to  be  found  on  the  roads  on  such  a  night.  It  is  not 
safe." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  bandy  words,"  said  Xaviera,  haughtily.  "  K 
is  my  will  to  do  as  I  please,  and  it  pleases  me  that  you  shall  go 
your  way,  and  allow  me  to  go  mine." 

"  Whatever  your  will  may  be  my  way  lies  in  your  direction. 
Miss  Pomeroy  is  my  neighbor — " 

"Whom  you  would  not  for  the  world  have  scandalized  I " 
mocked  Xaviera. 

"  Put  any  construction  you  please  upon  it.    I  go  with  you." 

Without  another  word  the  girl  turned  her  face  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Pomeroys'  white  cottage.  He  walked  beside  her  in 
silence.  The  way  was  rough,  but  her  whole  body  was  as  straight 
as  though  there  were  no  storm,  no  gale.  She  did  not  even  bend 
her  head.  Just  once  this  composure  failed  her — and  then  only 
for  a  second.  Something  like  a  sigh  crossed  her  lips.  She  stood 
still,  as  if  to  get  her  breath.  He  waited,  putting  his  hand  on  her 
arm  once  more — and  the  touch  nerved  her  for  the  rest  of  the  dis- 
tance. She  drew  away  quickly.  If  she  could  have  seen  his  eyee 
then  she  would  have  read  the  great  pity  in  their  depths. 


76  THE  APPARITION. 

When  they  reached  the  Pomeroy  gate,  her  common  sense  made 
effort  to  reassert  itself. 

"You  see — the  way — was  entirely — without  danger/*  she 
panted.  "  I  am  sorry — you  put  yourself — " 

"  It  was  no  trouble.  The  house  seems  dark.  Are  you  sura  it 
is  all  right  ?  Can  you  get  in  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  generally  retire  early — they  believe,  I  suppose,  that 
I  am  in  bed.  But  the  back  door — is  always  left  unlocked.  Allow 
me  to  bid  you  good-night." 

"  Good-night.  I  shall  stand  here  until  I  am  assured  that  you 
are  safely  inside.  Strike  a  match  when  yon  reach  your  room.  I 
know  which  one  it  is." 

Xaviera  obeyed  him.  He  held  the  gate  open  for  her,  and  she 
passed  him,  going  along  the  side  of  the  house  to  the  back.  When 
she  reached  her  room  she  struck  a  match.  The  light  flared  up — 
then  as  suddenly  was  extinguished.  She  did  not  look  to  see 
whether  or  no  her  unwelcome  escort  had  kept  his  word,  but, 
hastily  slipping  off  her  outside  garments,  which  were  wringing 
wet,  and  her  shoes,  she  crept  into  bed — where  she  lay,  shaken  and 
sleepless  until  morning. 


THE  NEWCOMER.  77 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    NEWCOMER. 

THERE  was  enough  to  do  for  the  following  weeks  to  keep 
Xaviera  Pomeroy  busily  at  work.  She  had  a  woman's  natural 
liking  for  restoring  order  out  of  chaos,  and  her  aunts,  seeing  that 
she  was  miserable  when  unoccupied,  let  her  do  exactly  as  she 
pleased.  Despite  their  own  rather  finicky  neatness,  things  had 
been  somewhat  neglected.  Both  were  old — perhaps  they  were  not 
so  observant  as  they  had  been  in  earlier  days,  and,  too,  while 
Segrovia  differed  from  no  other  small  up-State  town  in  the 
economy  of  its  inhabitants,  still  there  were  enough  "  best "  people 
there  to  keep  the  Pomeroys  busy.  Besides  that,  in  the  summer  it 
thrived  very  well.  Summer  was  its  prosperous  season,  for  then 
visitors  flocked  to  the  mountains. 

Many  called  on  the  Pomeroys  now  just  to  see  the  strange  niece 
who  had  come  to  Segrovia  to  take  up  her  abode  with  them — and 
afterward  to  note  the  change  she  was  making  in  their  dwelling. 
Her  taste  was  more  educated,  her  knowledge  fresher,  her  sugges- 
tions bright  and  always  apt.  Xaviera,  who  had  never  in  all  her 
life  exerted  herself  to  make  a  friend,  tried  now  to  be  pleasant  to 
the  simple  country-folk  who  treated  her  with  such  respectful 
curiosity.  Yet,  no  matter  how  she  tried,  there  was  one  enemy  to 
popularity  she  could  not  conquer — and  that  was  her  own  innate 
reserve.  Her  affableness  could  never  be  anything  but  conde- 
scension. 


78  FEE   NEWCOMER. 

Aunt  Winifred  loved  her — that  much  was  certain.  And 
Xaviera  knew  it.  But  the  barrier  of  silence  between  Magdalen 
and  her  niece  had  never  been  removed.  She  did  not  try  to  remove 
it.  She  would  not  force  confidence  nor  give  it.  Every  Saturday 
evening  the  sisters  counted  up  the  profits  of  the  week,  dividing 
them  into  three  shares,  of  which  Xaviera  took  hers.  They  never 
spoke  of  her,  never  discussed  her  movements — but  Aunt  Winifred 
watched,  with  much  uneasiness,  the  constant  and  ever-growing 
intercourse  between  Xaviera  and  Phyllis  Gordon.  The  great 
reticence  of  their  niece  regarding  her  past  life  was  responsible 
for  this.  They  knew  that  she  had  been  constantly  in  the  society 
of  such  people  as  Phyllis  was,  and  such  people  as  made  the  friends 
Phyllis  delighted  in  having.  Simple  and  primitive  in  feeling, 
Aunt  Winifred  believed  that  classes  had  a  right  to  be  exclusive, 
and  since  Xaviera  had  elected  to  cast  her  lot  with  them  there  was 
no  need  to  be  reaching  out  for  things  above  her.  So  little  did  they 
understand  the  heart  and  soul  of  Xaviera  Pomeroy. 

It  was  a  Sunday  early  in  March,  and  it  was  raining ;  and  both 
these  things  combined  to  make  the  house  dull.  Winifred,  yawn- 
ing, went  to  the  window  to  look  out,  as  she  heard  the  quick  rattling 
of  the  gate.  The  bang,  as  the  visitor  shut  it,  woke  Aunt  Magdalen, 
who  had  fallen  asleep  over  a  newspaper.  Phyllis  Gordon  was 
picking  her  way  along  the  plank  walk  to  the  house.  Aunt  Wini- 
fred waited  what  seemed  to  be  a  long  time.  But  the  girl  did 
not  enter  the  sitting-room.  There  was  no  sign  of  the  visitor  in  the 
hall  save  the  soaking  umbrella  she  had  placed  in  the  corner,  and 
from  which  a  small  pool  of  water  had  already  formed  on  the  floor. 
Shaking  her  head  over  such  carelessness,  Aunt  Winifred  set  it  in 
the  little  umbrella  pan  back  of  the  door,  and  then  looked  disap- 
provingly at  the  muddy  tracks  on  the  stairs. 


THE   NEWCOMER.  78 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Magdalen's  harsh  voice. 

"  Miss  Gordon.  She  has  just  gone  up  to  Xaviera's  room," 
said  Aunt  Winifred.  "  Strange !  One  would  think  that  a  little 
thing  like  her  would  be  afraid  to  venture  out  on  such  a  day  as 
this." 

"  It  is  getting  thicker,"  said  Magdalen,  scornfully. 

Winifred  looked  at  her  sister  with  a  question  injber  face. 

"  That  fashionable  riffraff  clings  together/'  said  Magdalen, 
in  the  harsh,  rasping  manner  habitual  to  her.  "  They  know  the 
girl  has  mixed  with  high  society — higher  than  they  can  touch. 
They  want  to  draw  her  out — perhaps  have  her  play  for  them  as 
she  played  for  this  princess  or  that  my  lady,  so  that  they  can  boast 
of  it.  They  wish  to  draw  her  back  into  their  life.  I  know  them 
— every  one  of  them." 

Magdalen  had  never  expressed  herself  so  openly.  In  fact,  she 
had  always  treated  Winifred  as  a  sort  of  nonentity.  Winifred 
listened. 

"  What  if  they  do  ?  "  she  asked — although  Magdalen  was  voic- 
ing her  very  sentiments,  almost,  one  might  say,  her  fears. 

"  Let  her  go !  I  expect  it  any  moment.  What  was  her  motive 
in  coming  ?  "  Magdalen  became  suddenly  furious.  "  Tell  me 
that,  Winifred.  Was  it  love  for  us  ?  Was  it  affection  ?  She  hates 
us !  She  despises  us !  I  see  it  in  every  action — and  the  only  rea- 
son I  tolerate  it  is  because  I  am  curious.  Curious  to  know  what 
is  the  secret  impulse  that  brings  her  here  and  keeps  her  here. 
The  daughter  of  such  a  mother — " 

"  Hush !  "  said  Winifred.  "  You  are  doing  Xaviera  an  in- 
justice— and  being  unjust  is  not  one  of  your  usual  faults,  Mag- 
dalen. We  have  spent  many  years  together,  you  and  I,  my  sister/' 
she  went  on  gently,  "and  I  have  noticed  that  you  are  much 


80  THE  NEWCOMER. 

change  since  Xaviera  came.  You  do  not  want  her  here,  maybe? 
She  reminds  you  of  the  past,  of — " 

"  She  identifies  herself  with  my  enemies !  What  right  has 
she  to  visit — how  dare  she  visit  Muriel  Thornton?  Is  there  any- 
thing else  needed  to  make  me  hate  the  girl  ?  " 

"  She  visits  Muriel  Thornton  ?  Oh,  no  1 "  cried  Winifred, 
aghast. 

"And  then  sits  at  the  table  with  us,  sees  us,  speaks  to  us, 
works  with  us — hour  after  hour,  day  after  day — and  says  nothing ! 
Nothing,  nothing,  nothing !  Who  is — " 

"  She  will  hear  you,"  warned  Winifred,  hastily.  "  Oh,  Magda- 
len, if  that  is  the  way  you  feel — if  her  presence  here  is  such  a 
torment  to  you — let  us  send  her  away." 

Her  voice  broke  over  the  last  words.  It  cost  her  much  to  say 
them,  for  she  loved  her.  But  Magdalen  laughed  shrilly. 

"  Send  her  away?  Where?  To  Muriel  Thornton?  Not  while 
I  can  prevent  it." 

Winifred  shivered,  and  her  eyes  filled.  Magdalen  was  old 
now — much  older  than  she.  Who  knew  how  long  she  had  to 
live  ?  And  was  it  not  an  awful  thing  that  so  old  a  woman  could 
entertain  such  bitter  hatred  for  another?  Could  even  con- 
template facing  eternity  with  that  hatred  upon  her  soul? 

"  She  might  not  go  to  Muriel  Thornton,"  ventured  Winifred ; 
"  and  she  probably  knows  nothing  of — " 

"  She  knows  all.  It  would  be  Muriel's  policy  to  tell  her  all, 
so  that  she  might  win  her  away  from  us.  You  are  a  fool.  Who 
knows  what  story  she  has  told  her  even  now  to  awaken  her  sym- 
pathy? She  knows  something,  that  is  certain.  One  realizes  that 
by  her  coldness." 

"It  is  not  Xaviera's  fault  that  she  is  cold,"  said  Winifred. 


TEE   NEWCOMER.  81 

"  Why  must  she  talk  to  us  of  her  affairs  when  we  do  not  seem 
interested  in  her  ?  You  never  ask  her  a  single  question  about  her- 
self— and  I  can  not,  because  of  you.  Often,  when  we  are  alone 
together,  she  becomes  almost  affectionate.  No.  The  girl  has 
suffered  a  great  deal — she  can  not  be  like  others.  And  if  we  want 
to  win  her  confidence  we  must  forget  our  own  peculiarities  as 
well.  Once  more  I  repeat  that  you  are  unjust,  Magdalen." 

The  other  did  not  answer. 

"  Let  ua  do  what  is  fair  and  honest,"  went  on  Winifred,  with 
more  spirit  than  she  usually  showed  before  her  stronger-willed, 
more  stubborn  sister.  "  She  came  to  us  as  our  brother's  daughter 
— my  brother's  as  well  as  yours,  Magdalen,  even  though  I  did  not 
do  as  much  for  him  as  you,  being  only  a  year  older  than  he,  and  a 
child  with  him.  She  asked  us  to  take  her  for  his  sake,  and  we 
have  done  so.  She  has  given  us  no  cause  for  regret,  though  she 
has  been  with  us  three  months  or  more.  Until  she  does  give  us 
cause  let  us  treat  her  as  she  treats  us.  So  far  she  has  been  an 
actual  blessing — little  short  of  a  Godsend." 

Magdalen  Pomeroy  did  not  answer.  But  if  Winifred  could 
have  seen  her  eyes  she  would  have  known  that  they  were  wet  with 
tears. 

***** 

Meanwhile,  Phyllis,  after  finding  her  way  to  the  floor  above 
— the  first  time  she  had  ever  intruded  on  Xaviera's  privacy,  but 
impelled  to  it  by  the  fact  that  she  had  seen  her  sitting  at  her 
window — knocked  softly  at  the  door.  She,  being  a  curious  little 
creature,  was  anxious  to  see  the  inside  of  Xaviera's  guarded  room. 
Xaviera  admitted  her,  extending  a  welcoming  hand. 

"Oh!"  said  Phyllis,  with  a  little  cry  of  rapture.  "Oh!" 
She  threw  aside  her  rain  coat — she  had  been  thoughtful  enough 


88  THE   NEWCOMER. 

to  remove  her  rubbers  in  the  hall — and  ran  across  to  the  divan 
with  its  luxurious  cushions.  "  Oh !  And  you  said  Aunt  Mary's 
was  beautiful !  Oh,  Xaviera !  Isn't  this  wonderful !  This  is 
what  I  love !  Oh,  you  wicked  friend !  You  knew  I  was  pining  for 
this — for  just  one  glimpse  of  the  dear,  delightful  things  of  my 
Egyptian  days — and  here  you  had  them  hidden  away  and  would 
not  let  me  enter!  Oh!  If  Aunt  Mary  could  ever  see  this  room 
— this  glorious  room !  Where  did  you  get  the  tapestries  ?  Xaviera, 
that's  a  genuine  peachblow — that  vase!  I  know  it!  And  that 
rug!  Oh,  that  darling  of  a  rug!  Xaviera,  Xaviera,  where  did 
you  get  them  all  ?  " 

"  They  are  reminiscences  of  past  and  gone  days,"  said  Xaviera, 
smiling  at  her  enthusiasm. 

"  Did  I  not  say  you  were  a  princess  in  disguise  who  stoops  to 
•ew  for  the  barbarians  of  Segrovia?  Yes,  you  are  a  princess  in 
one  of  the  fairy  tales — a  princess  who  has  broken  men's  hearts, 
because  you  are  so  beautiful,  and  you  have  been  sent  here,  away 
out  of  your  kingdom  to  do  penance.  And  you  shall  do  penance," 
Phyllis  clapped  her  hands,  "  until  the  prince  comes." 

"  Now  I  know  what  your  talent  is,"  said  Xaviera.  "  You  will 
write  romances." 

"Romance  writer  in  extraordinary  to  Princess  Xaviera! 
There,  what  a  title !  Xaviera,  tell  me,  tell  your  friend.  You're 
not  a  princess,  really  ?  " 

"You  will  go  home  this  moment  if  you  don't  stop,"  said 
Xaviera,  sternly,  but  her  eyes  were  smiling.  "  How  dare  you?  " 

"But  you  must  tell  me  where  you  got  them.  Tell  me — and 
I  shall  be  good." 

"  They  belonged  to  both  of  us — to  me  and  to  Frank — and  are 
consequently  dear  by  association,"  said  Xaviera,  dreamily.  "I 


!THE   NEWCOMER.  83 

could  not  bear  to  part  with  them — he  loved  them  all  so.  And  to 
keep  them  packed  up  would  have  been  sacrilege." 

"  I  grant  that !  "  said  Phyllis.  "  Why,  it  is  glorious  just  to 
live  here.  No  wonder  I  like  beautiful  things — I  am  glad  I  do! 
Even  you  are  different,  Xaviera — you  are  different  in  this  room. 
You  seem  milder;  you  do  not  put  such  restraint  on  yourself. 
You  are  natural.  You  have  lost  your  reserve — these  are  your 
proper  surroundings." 

She  leaned  her  chin  on  her  dainty  palms,  and  surveyed  her 
friend  keenly.  She  was  beginning  to  learn  from  her.  She  was 
beginning  to  understand  something  that  had  never  been  brought 
home  to  her.  Truly,  as  she  had  described  it,  religion  or  God  was 
but  a  name — a  vague,  far  away,  distant  thing,  which  had  naught 
to  do  with  her  brilliant,  butterfly  existence.  But  still  she  was  as 
a  child  groping  in  the  dark.  As  Magdalen  Pomeroy  could  not 
read  the  motive  of  her  niece's  conduct,  so,  too,  did  Phyllis  Gordon 
look  for  it  in  vain,  unwilling  to  take  the  girl's  word  that  it  was 
heartsickness  of  sham.  Why,  why,  had  this  incomprehensible 
creature  given  up  so  much  to  be  satisfied  with  so  little?  Was  it 
not  pride?  And  the  pride  that  Phyllis  knew  was  so  different  to 
Xaviera's !  There  was  pride  in  the  cold,  calm  face,  in  the  erect, 
beautiful  body.  Was  she  not  stubborn  ?  And  yet  to  whose  detri- 
ment ?  Concerning  the  things  of  this  earth — which  meant  every- 
thing to  Phyllis.  She  thought  of  her  growing  older  and  still  older 
in  this  place — "  this  horrid,  dreadful,  lonely  place ! "  She  saw 
the  slim  body  bent,  the  shoulders  stooped,  the  raven  hair  gray,  the 
lips  sunken,  the  hands  knotted — and  Phyllis  clasped  her  own 
hands,  shuddering. 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  she  said.    "  I  will  not  believe  It." 

Xaviera  neither  questioned  nor  commented.    She  was  deba£- 


84  THE  NEWCOMER. 

ing,  just  then,  whether  or  not  it  pleased  her  to  see  this  beautiful, 
frivolous  girl  in  the  place  kept  sacred  to  her  own  thoughts  so  long. 
She  loved  solitude — and  here  she  had  found  it.  There  was  no 
memory  of  any  other  personality — but  her  own  and  her  dear 
brother's — between  theee  walls.  Would  recollection  of  Phyllis 
annoy  her — 

But  these  were  surmises  induced  by  living  too  much  within 
herself.  She  would  banish  them,  they  were  selfish.  She  would 
subordinate  them  to  the  greater  task — the  task  of  bringing  home 
God's  greatness  and  overreaching  love  to  this  unawakened  soul. 
All  things — all  comfort,  all  pleasure,  must  be  kept  subservient  to 
that  one  great  task.  She  had  resolved,  and  the  quickening  of  the 
resolution  might  be  seen  now  in  the  suddenly  bright  eyes  as  she 
rose  from  her  chair,  and  coming  forward,  put  her  arm  about 
Phyllis'  shoulder. 

"  You  said  you  had  a  surprise  for  me  this  morning.  Tell  me 
what  it  is,"  she  said. 

The  girl's  eyes  sparkled. 

"Such  a  surprise!  Life  is  looking  worth  while  again.  Tell 
me,  did  you  ever  see  that  big  white  house  right  beyond  Aunt 
Mary's  place  ?  Mr.  Horace  Waverly  owns  it." 

Xaviera  nodded. 

"  I  have  seen  the  house,  but  never  knew  whose  property  it  was," 
she  said.  "  Why— is  it  Mr.  Waverly,  Phvllis?  " 

She  spoke  mischievously.    Phyllis  laughed. 

"No — it  is  not.  But  some  weeks  ago  Mr.  Waverly  had  a 
friend  come  to  him  for  the  shooting.  He's  stayed  ever  since.  His 
name  is  Allison  Frayer." 

"Yes?"  asked  Xaviera. 

"  I  met  him  last  evening — for  the  first  time.    He  was  at  our 


THE   NEWCOMER.  85 

house."  Phyllis  looked  at  her  friend  keenly  from  under  her  long 
lashes.  "  You  know  how  talk  goes  ?  Well,  there  have  been  rumors 
that  this  Englishman — he  is  an  Englishman — is  not  a  plain 
esquire  at  all,  but  a  real,  live  lord.  Is  he  ?  " 

Xaviera  smiled  sarcastically. 

"Do  you  think  I  have  the  British  peerage-list  at  my  finger- 
tips? Why  ask  me?" 

"  He  knows  you,  Xaviera." 

"That  may  be — at  one  time  ' everybody  that  was  anybody/ 
as  the  saying  goes,  knew  me." 

The  disdain  in  her  voice  did  not  affect  Phyllis  this  time — she 
was  too  curious. 

"  Conversation  turned  on  you  last  evening — he  told  us  many 
stories  of  your  triumphs  in  the  different  countries — in  fact,  he 
spoke  as  if  he  knew  you  very  well." 

In  spite  of  herself,  Xaviera's  lips  trembled. 

"  What  did  he  say  of  me  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  voice  she  tried  to 
render  easy. 

"  Oh,  it  was  an  enigmatical  discussion — and  an  exciting  one. 
Dr.  Fawcett  was  there.  Did  you  ever  see  Dr.  Fawcett  with  his 
hat  off  ?  His  head  is  like  a  lion's  mane,  and  his  big  eyes  glare  at 
you  as  if  he  wanted  to  eat  you  alive.  Uff !  He  comes  to  our  house 
every  single  day,  stays  a  few  seconds —  And  to  see  Aunt  Mary, 
then !  Her  kindness  is  really  touching.  That's  the  doctor  I  told 
you  of,  who  was  to  capture  my  hand  and  heart,  according  to  the 
correspondence  between  Aunt  Isabel  and  the  Honorable  Mrs. 
Browne,  relict  of  the  late  Thomas  John !  "  Phyllis  wrinkled  her 
nose.  "  Honestly,  Xaviera,  the  man  may  think  he  is  courting  me 
— but — "  She  burst  out  laughing.  "  People  look  upon  him  as  a 
sort  of  prodigy  here — and  every  morning  his  virtues  are  held  up  to 


88  THE   NEWCOMER. 

me  until  I  can  tell  them  off  by  heart.  Perhaps  yon  tfould  like  to 
hear  them?  First—" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Xaviera.    "  Spare  me." 

"  Well,  then,  they  were  all  to  our  house  last  evening — to  go 
back  again.  Mr.  Waverly  and  Mr.  Frayer  and  the  doctor.  The 
conversation  turned  on  you.  Only  you.  You  could  have  heard  a 
pin  drop.  Mr.  Frayer  said  you  had  the  strongest  will-power  of 
any  man  or  woman  whom  he  had  ever  met.  That  there  was  no 
obstacle  you  could  not  crush — that  with  your  iron  will  you  should 
be  a  ruling  power  in  the  world.  And  when  I  said  that  you  had 
come  to  this  place  determined  to  live  out  your  life  among  country 
people,  with  your  aunts — he  laughed. 

" '  Depend  upon  it,  Miss  Pomeroy  has  something  else  in  view 
besides  a  future  in  Segrovia,'  he  said." 

An  ironical  smile  played  about  Xaviera's  lips. 

"Aunt  Mary  accused  me  of  being  fascinated  with  you — and 
held  up  our  daily  intercourse  as  evidence.  And  then  Mr.  Frayer — 
Xaviera,  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  him !  His  language  is  so 
polished,  so  delicate !  He  spoke  of  your  many  talents,  your  high 
principles,  the  friends  you  had  made  and  left,  of  your  brother — " 

"He  spoke  of  my  brother?"  burst  from  Xaviera's  heaving 
bosom.  "  Of  my  brother  ?  " 

"  Ah,  do  not  feel  so  badly,  dear.  It  was  high  praise  indeed — 
I  almost  cried  when  he  touched  on  that  subject,  he  did  it  so 
sympathetically.  In  fact,  he  has  impressed  Aunt  Mary  so  that 
she  wants  you  to  come  to  her  next  Saturday  afternoon — " 

"What!  Deliberately  seek  that  from  which  I  came?  You 
should  know  better  than  to  ask  me,  Phyllis.  What  is  your  aunt — 
or  those  people — to  me  ?  " 

The  fine  scorn  in  her  voice  made  Phyllis  shrink  back,  abashed. 


THE   NEWCOMER.  87 

"  Mr.  Prayer  showed  me  a  picture  of  his  little  daughter — his 
wife  died  two  years  ago/'  she  said,  in  a  changed  voice.  "  Tell  me, 
Xaviera,  is  he  a  lord  ?  Or  is  it  only  nonsense  ?  " 

"What  good  will  it  do  you  to  know?"  asked  Xaviera. 
"  Rest  assured  he  is  not  the  sort  of  man  who  would  or  could  make 
any  woman  happy.  He  is  as  wicked  as  he  is  handsome." 

"  He  may  be  wicked — he  is  certainly  handsome/'  said  Phyllis. 
"But  is  he  a  prophet?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Because  he  told  me  that  you  would  not  come — thai  you  were 
afraid  to  meet  him.  Why,  Xaviera  ?  " 

"  One  scarcely  wishes  to  meet  those  whom  one— dislike* !  A.nd 
I  dislike  Mr.  Frayer  very  much." 

"  The  doctor,  too,  declared  you  would  not  come." 

"  The  doctor  ?  "  said  Xaviera,  musingly.    "  He  gave  a  reason  ?  " 

Phyllis  was  silent. 

"  He  gave  a  reason  ?  "  Xaviera  laughed.  "  He  said  my  audi- 
gnce  would  be  too  small !  Is  that  the  reason,  Phyllis  ?  " 

Phyllis  looked  surprised. 

"  Not  exactly  that — he  said  you  would  rather  play  to  crowded 
houses.  Xaviera — you  can't  know  the  doctor,  too  ?  " 

"  No — I  never  met  him  until  I  came  to  Segrovia.  But  he  is  as 
other  men.  I  know  human  nature,  Phyllis." 

"  I  wish  you  would  try  to  overcome  your  prejudice  just  this 
once,"  said  Phyllis  Gordon,  impulsively.  "  Just  this  once,  Xaviera 
— and  I  shall  never  ask  you  again.  Come,  if  only  to  justify  my 
belief  in  you." 

"No,  not  for  that  reason,"  said  Xaviera,  rising.  But  she 
smiled  in  a  way  that  Phyllis  had  never  observed  before.  "  I  shall 
come,  Phyllis — just  this — once." 


PASSED    DANGER. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

PASSED    DANGER. 

WHEN  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Browne  understood  that  Xaviera 
Pomeroy  meant  to  accept  her  invitation  for  the  following  Satur- 
day, she  strove,  first  of  all,  to  think  how  best  she  might  satisfy  the 
curiosity  of  those  friends  and  neighbors  of  hers  who  were  anxious 
to  meet  the  girl.  None  of  them  had  kindlier  motive  than  criticism, 
for  she  was,  in  truth,  the  chief  topic  of  conversation  in  the  town 
now.  So  that,  when  Saturday  afternoon  came,  over  a  dozen  of  the 
"very  nicest"  people,  to  quote  Phyllis,  were  seated  in  the  Hon- 
orable Mrs.  Browne's  drawing-room.  As  a  matter  of  courtesy, 
but  much  to  Aunt  Mary's  misery,  the  piano  had  to  be  thrown 
open.  It  was  a  remarkable  fact  that  this  woman,  harsh-looking, 
strong,  unpleasantly  aggressive,  almost  without  nerves,  was,  in 
respect  to  music,  very  sensitive.  Ordinary  playing,  to  her,  meant 
the  height  of  irritation,  and  the  sound  of  an  ordinary  human  voice 
upraised  in  singing  drove  her  to  despair.  She  had  not  had  much 
chance  to  acquire  this  trait  in  Segrovia — it  was  a  characteristic 
from  her  childhood  days  that  had  always  clung  to  her.  She 
listened  now,  inwardly  miserable,  while  her  guests  played  and 
sang  and  were  applauded.  Phyllis,  who  could  do  both  herself  in  a 
pleasing  way,  desisted  out  of  very  pity.  In  a  dainty  blue  gown, 
her  face  flushed  with  excitement,  Phyllis  was  indeed  a  vision. 

"  What  a  pity  a  girl  like  that  should  be  wasted  in  Segrovia," 
said  Mr.  Frayer. 

She  had  just  passed  them,  animated,  sparkling,  beautiful,  and 


PASSED   DANGER.  88 

his  eyes  followed  her  with  the  gaze  of  one  who  finds  nothing  to 
ohject  to.  Horace  Waverly  nodded.  He  had  two  charming 
daughters  of  his  own — but  Phyllis!  He  had  never  seen  a  girl 
like  Phyllis.  He  said  so.  Mr.  Prayer  turned  to  the  window,  from 
which  he  had  allowed  his  attention  to  stray — in  fact  he  had 
merely  made  that  casual  remark  to  keep  his  vis-&-vis  from  notic- 
ing his  abstraction.  For  his  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  narrow  street 
and  the  road  that  led  beyond — that  narrow  path  down  which 
Xaviera  Pomeroy  must  come  on  her  way  to  the  house  if  she  came 
at  all.  The  tall,  fair-haired,  aristocratic-looking  stranger  heard 
little  of  what  went  on  around  him.  It  was  no  wonder  Phyllis  pro- 
nounced him  a  cavalier — he  looked  the  aristocrat,  the  gallant, 
from  head  to  toe — and  yet  his  elegance  was  quiet,  his  manner,  if 
pleasant  and  possessing  certain  charm,  reserved. 

A  wagon  came  tearing  down  the  street  past  the  house.  Mr. 
Waverly  was  leaning  forward,  listening  to  his  daughter,  who  stood 
at  the  piano,  singing,  in  a  sweet  young  voice,  an  old-time  ballad. 
Prayer  heard  nothing;  he  watched  the  vehicle  as  it  drove  past, 
saw  it  rock  from  side  to  side,  and  noticed  that  the  driver,  hastily 
thrusting  out  his  head  from  the  open  side,  cast  a  glance  back- 
ward, looked  around  as  if  frightened,  and,  then,  plying  his  whip, 
sent  his  horse  dashing  down  the  hilly  path.  Mr.  Prayer  did  not 
understand  the  meaning  of  this  pantomime,  nor  did  he  take  time 
to  wonder  at  it,  since  suddenly,  at  the  top  of  the  street,  he  saw 
the  figure  he  had  waited  for  so  long. 

He  had  command  of  himself — nevertheless,  his  fingers 
twitched  and  his  pupils  contracted  nervously  as  he  watched  the 
swaying,  graceful  walk  he  knew  so  well,  the  poise  of  the  dark 
head.  He  could  scarcely  breathe.  She  came  on,  unconscious  of 
that  scrutiny,  and  stood  at  the  gate  with  her  hand  on  the  latch, 


90  PASSED   DANGER. 

her  attention  attracted  by  something  lying  in  the  road.  She  hesi- 
tated— the  expression  of  her  face  changed.  There  was  perplexity 
in  it,  and  anxiety.  Still  gazing,  she  let  the  latch  fall  and 
walked  away.  With  a  muttered  exclamation  Frayer  jumped  to  hig 
feet. 

"  Curse  it ! "  he  said.    "  Doesn't  she  know  the  house  ?  " 

Waverly  looked  up  at  him  in  great  surprise,  noting  the  un- 
wonted excitement  of  the  man. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  his  eyes  following  Prayer's. 
And  then,  "  My  God !  What  is  it  ?  A  child,  as  I  live !  " 

By  this  time  the  attention  of  all  in  the  room  had  been  at- 
tracted and  they  came  crowding  to  the  windows.  Xaviera,  stoop- 
ing, had  picked  up  a  little  boy  from  the  ground.  He  was  dusty 
and  dirty,  and  one  tiny  limb  hung  helpless.  She  stoocl  with  him 
in  her  arms,  speaking  to  him  tenderly,  and  trying  to  settle  the 
little  body  so  that  she  might  not  hurt  him.  He  was  crying. 
Frayer,  with  another  exclamation  turned  to  the  door,  rushed  out 
of  the  room,  and  was  down  the  pebbled  path — holding  the  gate 
wide  for  her. 

"  You  can't  hold  him,"  he  said,  harshly.  "  Give  him  to  me, 
Xaviera." 

She  looked  at  him  coldly,  and  at  the  others  who  had  followed 
him.  The  child's  arms  were  about  her  neck,  and  his  piteous 
moans  were  in  her  ears.  They  hurt  her.  She  spoke  to  him  once 
more. 

"  It  will  be  all  right,  Danny,  dear,"  she  said.  "  Dear  little 
boy,  try  not  to  cry  so." 

Mrs.  Browne,  calm  and  severe,  came  out,  and  stood  beside  Mr. 
Frayer. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  haughtily. 


PASSED   DANGER.  91 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Xaviera,  simply.  "  I  found  the  child 
dragging  himself  along  the  ground  at  your  door.  Is  there  a  doctor 
here  who  can  attend  to  him  ?  If  not,  I  shall  carry  him  home  with 
me  at  once — " 

"  No,  no,"  interposed  Mr.  Frayer,  hastily.  "  Surely  you  will 
not  permit  that,  Mrs.  Browne?  The  young  lady  would  not  be 
able  to  carry  him  far — and  the  child  may  die.  Let  me  take  him 
from  you,  I  beg,"  he  continued,  courteously. 

But  Danny  only  clung  the  tighter.  A  broad-shouldered,  sturdy 
figure  now  appeared  at  the  hall-door.  The  next  moment  Dr. 
Fawcett  was  among  them. 

"  What  is  it  ?  The  child  is  injured  ?  Why  do  you  stand  out 
here  gaping?  Bring  him  in — at  once,  at  once."  He  spoke  author- 
itatively— then  leaned  toward  the  little  chap. 

"  Come,  boy,  come,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice — but  Xaviera  felt 
the  difference.  "  Come — you  are  too  heavy  for  the  young  lady." 

Danny's  little  hands  tightened. 

"  She  won't  go  away,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett.  "  If  you  will  let  me 
take  you,  she  will  stay  with  you  just  the  same." 

"  Do,  dear,"  said  Xaviera.  "  The  gentleman  will  not  hurt  you 
as  much  as  I  in  carrying  you  up  the  stairs." 

She  looked  at  Dr.  Fawcett  then,  for  Danny  cried  again — his 
moans  had  subsided  into  a  little  whimper,  very  weak  and  faint, 
and  all  the  strength  left  to  him  was  centered  in  the  clasp  of 
his  arms  about  her  neck. 

"  I  shall  carry  him,"  she  said.  "  He  will  not  let  go."  She 
turned  toward  the  house. 

"  You  must  not  bring  him  into  the  drawing-room,"  said  Mrs. 
Browne,  in  a  displeased  voice.  "  I  don't  see  why  people — " 

"  That  will  do,  that  will  do/'  said  Dr.  Fawcett,  curtly.    "  You 


92  PASSED   DANQSR. 

can't  turn  him  away,  can  you  ?  Have  a  little  sense,  woman.  Isn't 
there  some  room — " 

"  Take  mine,"  said  Phyllis,  quickly.  "  You  can  have  my  room, 
Dr.  Fawcett." 

His  eyes  rested  on  her  kindly.    She  blushed  as  she  led  the  way. 

"  Could  anything  be  more  theatrical  than  that  ?  "  asked  Horace 
Waverly,  with  a  sarcastic  smile.  "  I  am  afraid  Miss  Pomeroy  is 
striving  after  effect." 

"She  didn't  have  the  boy  run  over  on  purpose,  did  she?" 
asked  Frayer.  He  was  very  much  irritated.  "  Little  cub !  He 
held  on  like  grim  death — " 

"  She  is  really  the  well-known  Miss  Pomeroy — " 

"  Do  you  think  there  could  be  two  like  her  in  the  world  ? " 
asked  Allison  Frayer.  He  seemed  to  be  laboring  under  strong 
excitement.  "  Two  Xaviera  Pomeroys !  Absurd !  " 

"  Get  her  to  entertain  us  later  on !  It  will  be  a  treat  to  hear 
something  worth  while  up  here.  If  I  could  get  rid  of  this  weak- 
ness of  the  lungs  I  would  not  stay  in  Segrovia  a  week." 

"  There  are  worse  places  than  Segrovia/'  said  Frayer,  moodily. 
"  It  is  environment,  association,  that  makes  the  wilderness  a  para- 
dise." He  laughed.  "Many  people  would  be  glad  to  exchange 
brighter  scenes  for  Segrovia — with  Xaviera  Pomeroy's  compan- 
ionship." 

"  I  hear  she  is  an  ardent  Catholic,"  said  Waverly.  "  Perhaps 
that  has  something  to  do  with  her  voluntary  self-seclusion.  That 
religion  always  struck  me  as  being  ascetical — " 

"  Miss  Pomeroy  has  a  will  of  her  own — and  a  way,"  said 
Philippa  Waverly,  approaching  her  father  and  their  guest.  "  We, 
who  have  come  to  meet  her,  and  are  dying  to  see  her,  must  wait 
until  she  gets  through  dancing  attendance  on  a  little  beggar-boy." 


PASSED   DANGER.  98 

"  Dr.  Fawcett  did  not  even  ask  Mrs.  Browne's  permission — 
told  her  to  have  a  little  sense,"  put  in  Mrs.  Bludgitt,  one  of  the 
guests  who  had  followed  Philippa.  "  Simply  took  matters  in  his 
own  hands." 

"  Some  of  us  can  be  glad  he  does/'  said  Constance  Waverly,  a 
tall,  fair,  soft-spoken  girl.  She  looked  at  her  father  as  she  spoke, 
and  he  smiled — for  Constance  was  the  dearest  thing  in  the  world 
*o  him.  "  He  saved  mother's  life  last  year  by  being  dictatorial." 

"  Here  he  comes  now."  They  looked  toward  the  door.  Aunt 
Mary,  with  her  nose  high  in  the  air,  advanced  to  meet  him. 

"  One  of  your  servants  is  on  his  way  to  the  child's  home  with 
him,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett,  in  tones  loud  enough  for  all  to  hear. 
"  Fortunately  the  bone  escaped  shattering — but  he  is  badly  cut 
and  bruised,  and  has  lost  much  blood.  He'll  probably  die  from 
the  shock.  I  wonder  how  it  happened  ?  The  idea  of  any  human 
being  in  Segrovia  injuring  a  child  in  that  fashion,  and  leaving  it 
on  the  road  to  perish.  If  I  find  out  who  did  it,  I'll  make  him 
suffer.  Segrovia  is  not  so  large  a  place  that  such  a  thing  can  be 
hidden  long ! " 

He  was  thoroughly  angry.  Mrs.  Browne  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  Did  Miss  Pomeroy  go—" 

"  She  is  with  Miss  Phyllis — they  will  be  down  presently." 

"  With  Miss  Phyllis ! "  said  Aunt  Mary,  in  a  disgusted  tone. 
"  That  means  that  Phyllis  will  forget  all  and  everything  but — 
There  they  are.  It's  a  wonder !  " 

They  entered  the  room  together — Xaviera  dressed  in  simple 
black,  the  diamond  cross  upon  her  bosom  glittering.  Phyllis,  with 
a  proud  expression  on  her  beautiful  face,  was  holding  her  hand, 
and  brought  her  over  to  her  aunt,  who  proceeded,  then,  to  Intro- 


94  PASSED   DAN&ER. 

duce  her  to  the  guests.  Mr.  Frayer,  tall  and  courteous,  stood 
beside  her. 

"  I  have  had  the  honor,"  he  said,  bowing,  "  under  happier  cir- 
cumstances. In  Naples — and  in  London — Miss  Pomeroy  and  I 
knew  each  other  quite  well." 

Xaviera  looked  at  him — steadily,  fearlessly. 

"  Quite  well  ?  "  And  the  ghost  of  a  smile  touched  her  lips. 
"  We  met,  I  believe.  But  quite  well  ?  Pardon  me  if  I  fail  to  re- 
member I " 

He  was  not  disconcerted. 

"  I  was  but  one  poor  moth  among  many,"  he  said.  "  I  could 
not  ask  you  to  remember.  Perhaps,  after  a  while,  it  may  not  be 
BO  hard." 

Xaviera  smiled  and  turned  away.  She  had  a  gracious  manner 
when  she  pleased — and  now,  indeed,  she  wanted  to  make  these  peo- 
ple like  her,  since  she  meant  to  live  out  all  her  days  among  them. 
She  stood  with  Mrs.  Bludgitt  and  the  Waverly  girls,  with  Phyllis 
hovering  about  them  like  a  bright-winged  butterfly,  happy  and 
proud  of  her  friend.  Already  the  serious,  thoughtful  Constance 
Waverly  had  fallen  victim  to  Xaviera's  charm — and  Phyllis  felt 
that  she  loved  her  for  it.  The  moments  fairly  flew.  At  last  Mr. 
Frayer  approached  them. 

"  I  have  been  telling  them  how  beautifully  you  play,"  he  said, 
"and  sing.  Will  you  give  just  one  small  selection  from  your 
repertoire?" 

Xaviera  lifted  her  eyes.  Dr.  Fawcett,  standing  close  to  them, 
had  heard  the  request — and  involuntarily  his  glance  sought  her 
face.  She  met  that  glance  of  his  full — and  such  mockery  as 
lighted  her  features,  played  about  her  lips  for  one  moment's 
time! 


PASSED   DANGER.  95 

It  was  meant  for  him  alone,  and  it  angered  him.  Why —  He 
waited  for  her  answer. 

"  I  neither  play  nor  sing,  any  more,"  she  said,  "  save  at  rare 
intervals.  I  never  touch  the  piano,  and  the  harp — which  once  I 
played  rather  well — I  have  given  up  for  ever." 

There  was  a  general  protest  at  this — with  one  exception.  Aunt 
Mary  stood  silent,  a  sarcastic  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  Let  us  beg  of  you,"  said  Philippa  Waverly. 

"  For  my  sake !  "  said  Phyllis.  "  Xaviera,  I  have  never  heard 
you,  as  long  as  I  know  you." 

"  I  dislike  being  urged — I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me  dis- 
agreeable," said  Xaviera.  "  But  I  have  taken  a  vow  that  I  shall 
never  play  or  sing  again  before  an  audience — large  or  small — 
unless,  indeed,  it  may  be  in  church." 

She  spoke  so  decidedly,  and  yet  with  such  sweetness,  that  they 
could  say  nothing  more.  Dr.  Fawcett's  stern  eyes  were  on  her 
pale  face,  and  Phyllis,  looking  at  him,  became  conscious  of  some 
deep  feeling  in  that  gaze  that  she  could  not  understand.  Con- 
trasted to  the  polite,  almost  exquisite  manner  of  Mr.  Frayer,  the 
doctor's  bruskness  had  repelled  the  thoughtless  girl.  But  now 
she  made  up  her  mind  that  he  was  really  interesting.  His  hair 
fell  over  his  big  forehead  in  a  way  that  gave  him  an  appearance  of 
careless  power.  His  steady  eyes,  his  strong  profile,  all  bespoke 
determination  equal  to  Xaviera's  own.  How  would  it  be,  she 
wondered,  if  those  two  wills  ever  came  into  opposition? 

"  And  that  is  the  village  dressmaker ! "  said  Mrs.  Bludgitt, 
with  a  queer  laugh. 

"  Oh,  you  see  how  impossible  it  is !  "  said  Aunt  Mary.  "  N"o 
girl  of  her  ability  would  do  a  thing  of  this  sort.  Only  that  Mr. 
Frayer  vouched  for  her  in  such  emphatic  terms  I  should  scarcely 


9fl  PASSED   DANGER. 

have  ventured  to  ask  her  here.  But  it  is  well  to  be  on  the  safe 
side — and  Mr.  Frayer  is  other  than  he  seems.  It  is  said  that  he  is 
traveling  incognito — he  stands  in  line  to  be  an  English  earl !  " 

"  What  a  great  honor  for  Segrovia ! "  said  Mrs.  Bludgitt. 
"  How  did  the  Waverlys  ever  get  him  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Waverly  is  an  Englishman — I  suppose  they  were  ac- 
quainted. These  are  only  rumors,  of  course.  You  know  I  have 
nothing  but  hearsay."  At  the  same  time  she  looked  at  her  com- 
panion with  an  expression  that  told  her  she  could  tell  her  more 
if  she  would. 

"  The  Waverlys  always  get  the  best  of  everything,"  said  Mrs. 
Bludgitt,  in  a  discontented  voice.  "  I  suppose  they'll  marry  him 
to  Constance — she's  the  eldest." 

Again  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Browne  looked  very  wise.  If 
Phyllis- 
It  was  growing  dark  when  Xaviera  bade  her  hostess  farewell, 
and  went  out  into  the  hall.  Phyllis,  rising  to  accompany  her, 
was  detained. 

"  Do  not  go  until  I  come,"  she  called  after  her  friend.  "  Wait 
for  me — I  have  something  to  tell  you."  Xaviera  found  Mr. 
Frayer  in  the  hall,  alone.  He  had  sent  the  servant  away  on  some 
pretext,  and  now,  when  the  girl  came  out,  he  turned  to  her  eagerly. 

"You  will  surely  allow  me  to  accompany  you  part  of  the 
distance  ?  "  he  began. 

Xaviera  drew  back,  smiling. 

"  You  would  outrage  all  the  proprieties  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You 
are  amusing." 

"  Proprieties !  In  Segrovia !  "  The  words  came  forth  quickly. 
"  Must  I  ask  forgiveness  on  my  knees  ?  Would  that  satisfy  you  ? 
1  shall  show  you  how  much  Segrovia,  or  any  one  in  it,  is  to  me — 


PASSED   DANGER.  97 

saving  only  you.  I  will  go  back  with  you  to  that  room,  and  throw 
myself  at  your  feet  and  implore  your  pity.  Would  that  be  sweet 
revenge  ?  Have  I  not  suffered  enough  ?  How  long  is  my  punish- 
ment to  last  ?  Why  do  you  think  I  followed  you  here  ?  You  know 
I  was  never  happy.  And  you!  You  have  never  married — you 
have  never  loved  since  then !  Shall  I  let  you  go  now  that  I  am 
free?  You  torture  me.  To  think  that  you,  you,  you  whom  I 
worship  should  condescend  to  the  prattling  tongues  of  this  vile 
town — should  stoop  to  enter  that  vile  hovel  it  pleases  you  to  call 
your  home !  Come  now,  come  now — just  as  you  are,  and  leave  it  all. 
For  one  smile  from  you  I  would  conquer  the  world !  " 

The  man's  passion  fairly  carried  him  away.  His  tones,  earnest, 
ringing,  sent  the  blood  coursing  more  quickly  through  the  girl's 
veins. 

"  You  know  what  lies  before  you  as  my  wife — you  know  what 
you  shall  be,  what  you  shall  do.  What  honors  I  can  heap  upon 
you — what  honors — " 

"  I  beg  of  you  to  cease/'  said  Xaviera,  earnestly.  "  And  again 
I  beg  it  of  you.  The  life  you  picture  is  gone.  The  way  I  follow 
now  lies  beyond." 

"Yes,  beyond — out  into  the  world  you  love  in  your  secret 
heart." 

"  I  do  not." 

"  You  do.  Your  lifr  lies  with  me,  with  me,  with  me."  He 
spoke  exultantly.  "You  dare  not  look  at  me  and  deny  it.  You 
are  afraid  of  me!  Do  you  think  I  shall  give  you  up,  ever?  I, 
who  have  traced  you  over  two  continents !  You  shall  never  escape 
me.  You  belong  to  me,  and  if  I  can't  win  you  by  fair  means — 
I  shall  by  others." 

"  Which  I  expect,"  said  Xaviera,  scornfully.    "  Since  a  man 


98  PASSED   DANGER. 

like  you  has  no  scruples.    Go,  then.    Go  from  house  to  house  and 
tell  what  tale  you  will.    I  stand  alone." 

"  Will  their  scorn  be  less  easy  to  bear  than — " 
"  Their  scorn !  Contrast  these  people  with  Xaviera  Pomeroy's 
will,  and  ask  yourself  what  chance  they  have  to  conquer  it.  I  set 
my  value  on  myself — and  no  one  such  as  you  can  underrate  me. 
Afraid  of  them — or  afraid  of  you ! "  She  laughed  under  her 
breath.  "Afraid  of  you — poor,  paltry,  miserable  creature,  who 
swore  eternal  fidelity  to  me,  and  then,  going,  took  that  patient 
soul  Irorn  her  father's  house  and,  because  you  made  her  your  wife, 
thought  you  had  the  right  to  torture  her  to  death  with  your 
heartlessness !  She,  who  died  for  love  of  you !  Ah,  you  are  shame- 
less as  well  as  heartless !  And  I,  to  be  afraid  of  you !  Why,  I  do 
not  hate  you  nor  fear  you,  because  my  contempt  is  so  bitter  that 
there  is  room  for  no  other  feeling." 

They  did  not  hear  the  drawing-room  door  open,  neither  of 
them.  Phyllis,  coming  out  into  the  hall  saw  both  figures — the 
man,  white  as  death,  with  clenched  hands,  staring  at  the  face  of 
the  woman,  whose  bitter  words  stung  him  to  impotent  rage.  It 
was  tragical — and  Phyllis  felt  it  so.  She  drew  back  quietly,  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  Dr.  Fawcett's  arm,  whose  brow  had  darkened, 
whose  eyes  flashed  strangely.  He,  too,  took  in  the  import  of  that 
scene.  And  it  displeased  him. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Xaviera  did  not  go  home.  She  had  dreaded  this  meeting 
almost  mortally.  Now  that  it  was  over,  her  heart  beat  high.  She 
had  been  afraid.  The  presence  of  Allison  Frayer  broughc  back 
the  misery  of  the  past,  the  memory  of  her  brother,  and  the  cir- 
cumstances attending  his  untimely  death.  In  the  silence  and 
darkness  of  the  night  he  had  passed  her,  striving  to  impress  that 


PASSED   DANGER.  99 

fear  upon  her  soul — for  he  had  known  as  well  as  she  that  she  was 
afraid.  She  thanked  God  now. 

She  made  her  way  to  the  small  wooden  chapel  where  Father 
Powers  said  Mass  every  other  Sunday.  She  knew  it  would  be 
open  at  this  hour,  and  she  was  longing  to  tell  God  her  joy  of  heart, 
to  pour  forth  her  glad  soul  to  Him.  She  and  Father  Powers  were 
good  friends — Segrovia  was  but  a  mission,  one  of  five  which  the 
priest  had  to  take  care  of,  and  there  was  only  a  sprinkling  of 
Catholics  in  the  town.  He  had  asked  her — struck  by  the  quiet 
piety  of  the  girl  (revealed  to  him  not  so  much  by  speech  as  by 
actions)  to  attend  to  the  little  things  so  necessary  for  the  Divine 
Service,  and  the  beautiful  linen  altar  cloth  and  the  general  air  of 
neatness  prevailing  in  God's  humble  home  this  past  few  months 
had  been  due,  in  part,  to  her  unremitting  care.  It  was  really  her 
haven  of  refuge — her  hope.  Here  she  could  bring  her  tired  heart. 
And  Father  Powers,  when  he  was  home,  placed  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment in  the  little  tabernacle,  knowing  that  before  long  it  would 
have  one  loving  worshiper. 

Hither  she  went  then,  drawn  by  the  love  that  binds  us  Catholics 
together  the  world  over.  Nor  would  her  heart  be  satisfied  with 
silent  prayer.  Father  Powers,  reading  his  breviary  in  the  cold 
sacristy  with  his  overcoat  about  him,  pacing  up  and  down  while  he 
waited  for  those  of  his  parishioners  who  were  coming  to  con- 
fession, suddenly  became  conscious  of  a  new  touch  upon  the  keys 
of  the  organ — new  and  tender  fingers,  bringing  out  new  and 
tender  notes.  And  then  her  voice — the  voice  she  had  declined  to 
exercise  that  day  to  gain  human  praise,  took  up  the  anthem. 
Father  Powers  let  his  book  drop  and  stood  still,  as  the  Latin 
words  filled  the  little  church,  sonorous,  deep,  beautiful,  the  pro- 
nunciation purely  Italian.  He  listened  in  rapture,  with  tears 


100  PASSED   DANGER. 

standing  in  his  eyes.  In  a  long,  long  time  he  had  not  been  so 
deeply  moved. 

When  the  music  ceased  at  last  he  took  his  place  in  the  con- 
fessional, for  he  was  well  aware  that  she  never  lost  such  an  oppor- 
tunity. Those  who  knew  her  would  scarcely  have  recognized 
her  when  she  came  out  again.  In  the  joy  of  her  soul  she  seemed 
like  a  new  being.  She  would  succeed ;  she  would  conquer ! 

"  You  see,  I  have  heard  you  play,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett.  He  was 
leaning  against  the  door,  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast.  The 
dim  light  fell  on  the  face  she  uplifted  to  his.  It  was  transfigured, 
glorified ;  the  eyes  were  sparkling,  the  lips  smiling.  "  And  I  have 
heard  you  sing." 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Xaviera,  and  the  music  of  her  voice  fell 
pleasantly  upon  his  listening  ears.  "  And  after  having  heard 
those  two  most  wonderful  things — my  playing  and  my  singing — 
go  to  Father  Powers  to  get  rid  of  the  disappointment  that  fills 
your  soul." 

There  was  a  laugh  in  her  voice — a  gayety  of  manner  so  utterly 
unknown  and  unobserved  before,  that  the  man's  grave  face  lightVd 
up. 

"  I  came  for  that  purpose,"  he  said — and  then  as  she  passed 
him,  "  I  am  glad  we  are  one  in  faith,  Miss  Pomeroy." 

"  Yes,"  said  Xaviera.  "  It  makes  a  lot  of  difference  in  one's 
attitude  toward  another.  I  did  not  know  you  were  a  Catholic  like 
myself." 

She  was  strangely  happy — anxious  to  be  up  and  doing — 
anxious  not  to  lose  these  moments  of  surcease  from  terror — the 
first  she  had  known  in  many  days.  She  passed,  on  her  way,  the 
miserable  little  dwelling  that  had  been  pointed  out  to  her  as  the 
home  in  which  Danny  and  his  sister  lived.  They  were  the  two 


PASSED   DANGER.  101 

children  she  had  met  at  her  aunts'  door  that  first  day  in  Segrovia. 
A  faint  light  shone  through  the  curtainless  window,  and  going 
toward  it,  she  peered  in.  The  figure  of  a  little  girl  was  seated  al 
the  table,  with  her  head  upon  her  arms.  She  was  fast  asleep. 
On  a  cot  in  the  corner  lay  Danny,  tossing  helplessly.  Xaviera, 
with  some  difficulty,  made  her  way  to  the  door  and  entered.  She 
went  to  the  boy  and  put  her  hand  on  his  burning  forehead. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  "  she  asked,  bending  over  him  tenderly. 

"  Water,"  he  whispered.  "  Water.  I  want  a  drink  of  water." 
His  eyes  were  bright  with  fever. 

Xaviera  touched  Elizabeth's  arm.  The  child  sprang  up  in 
affright. 

"  Where  is  the  water  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Show  me  so  that  I  may 
give  your  little  brother  a  drink.  You  know  who  I  am,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  without  hesitation. 

She  brought  the  water  from  a  pail  in  the  corner  of  the  room, 
and  the  little  fellow  swallowed  some  greedily.  Then  Xaviera 
bathed  his  face  and  hands,  and  straightened  the  coarse  mattress 
under  him.  The  joy  of  a  moment  since,  the  exultant  gayety,  had 
left  her,  now  that  she  was  face  to  face  with  such  evident  misery. 

"  Isn't  there  any  one  to  stay  here  with  you,  and  to  help  you  ?  " 
she  asked  Elizabeth. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  answered  the  child.  "  But  I  won't  fall  asleep 
any  more,"  she  protested.  "I  just  dozed  off  that  time  because 
Danny  did.  I  tell  him  to  stay  in  the  house,"  she  added,  "  but  he 
won't.  He  always  follows  me,  and  that's  how  he  got  run  over 
to-day." 

"My  dear,  my  dear,"  said  Xaviera,  in  quick  pity,  "how  do 
you  live  ?  Where  are  your  people  ?  * 


102  PASSED   DANGER. 

"  We  haven't  any — 'cepting  father — an5  he  never  comes  home, 
only  when  he  drinks  very  bad." 

"  Have  you  had  anything  to  eat  to-day  ?  "  asked  Xaviera. 

The  child  hung  her  head. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  Miss  Decker,  she  gave  me  something  thii 
morning." 

"And  not  since?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 

Xaviera  pondered.  They  were  hungry,  then.  And  how  was 
Danny  to  get  well  without  nourishment? 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  hastily.  "  I  am  going  to  run  up  and  get 
you  some  food.  Don't  go  to  sleep  until  I  come." 

That  was  the  first  consideration — present  hunger.  Aunt  Mag- 
dalen had  retired,  but  Aunt  Winifred  was  nodding  over  her  prayer- 
book  when  Xaviera  entered. 

"  I  have  just  found  those  two  poor  Bernard  children  starving," 
said  Xaviera.  "  Won't  you  give  me  something  for  them  ?  Danny 
was  hurt  to-day — his  little  leg  was  almost  crushed.  And  their 
house  is  dreadful,  dreadful !  I  have  never  seen  anything  like  it ! 
Haven't  the  people  in  Segrovia  any  feeling,  to  let  two  children 
suffer  so?" 

Winifred  got  up  and  put  some  food  together  in  a  small  basket, 
sketching,  as  she  did  so,  the  history  of  the  two  Bernard  children. 
People  would  have  been  glad  to  do  for  them,  but  Elizabeth  would 
not  part  with  Danny.  The  father,  too,  was  an  annoying  man  in 
liquor,  and  no  one  cared  to  bother  with  the  children  on  that  ac- 
count, being  sure  of  sound  abuse  the  moment  he  discovered  it. 

"  And  what  is  everybody's  business  is  nobody's  business,"  said 
Xaviera.  "Still—" 

Aunt  Winifred  looked  at  her  keenly. 


PASSED   DANGER.  KJB 

"  It  is  not  the  helping  of  the  Bernard  children  that  makes  you 
look  so,  Xaviera  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You  seem  happy,  young — " 

"  If  you  had  encountered  a  great  danger,  a  very  great  danger, 
that  you  had  been  afraid  to  face,  and  found  that  you  could  laugh 
at  it,  wouldn't  you  be  happy,  too  ?  That  is  what  is  the  matter  with 
me,  Aunt  Winifred ! "  And  then  under  her  breath,  "  I  climbed 
the  way  that  led  beyond,  and  found  my  cross — and  lo !  in  coming 
back  again  God  took  my  cross  from  me !  " 

Aunt  Winifred  bent  over  her,  kissing  her. 

"  Try  to  be  happy  with  us,  Xaviera,"  she  said.  "  And  don't 
mind  if  Magdalen  is  queer  and  harsh.  She  has  had  much  sorrow. 
Your  father—  She  thinks—" 

"  It  will  come  all  right  in  the  end,"  said  Xaviera.  "  She 
will  see  that  I  never  mean  to  leave  either  one  of  you  again."  And 
then,  brightly,  "  You,  Aunt  Winifred  ?  Why,  I  could  never  leave 
you,  now,  Aunt  Winifred  1 " 


104  THROUGH    THE   STORM. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THROUGH  THE  STOBM. 

THE  summer  was  starting,  and  the  influx  of  visitors  to  Se- 
grovia  commencing.  The  little  town  seemed  to  awaken  from  its 
winter's  sleep,  emerging  gaily  into  the  growing  warmth  of  the 
sun — for  the  summer  was  its  harvest-time.  Xaviera's  duties  had 
steadily  increased,  and  now  every  day  seemed  to  enlarge  her  use- 
fulness. Father  Powers  begged  her  to  take  charge  of  the  music 
of  the  church,  and  this  she  had  done,  so  that  Sunday  morning 
was  a  time  of  delight,  not  alone  to  the  Catholics  who  drove  in 
from  various  sections  of  the  country,  but  to  many  of  the  non- 
Catholic  residents.  The  Xaviera  Pomeroy  whose  talents  could 
neither  be  bought  nor  entreated  gave  freely  of  them  to  God. 
Gradually  Father  Powers  knew  the  difference.  His  church  in 
Segrovia  was  growing  in  prosperity.  People  became  more  alive  to 
their  sense  of  responsibility  in  regard  to  the  pastor  who  had 
striven  so  long  among  them. 

The  father  of  the  Bernard  children  had  disappeared,  and 
rumor  said  that  he  had  been  frozen  to  death  in  the  mountains 
during  the  winter.  There  wasn't  any  sorrow  over  his  loss ;  rather 
a  sense  of  relief  among  those  who  had  ever  come  in  contact  with 
him.  Infinitely  patient,  Xaviera  had  taken  both  children  under 
her  protection — and  this  was  difficult  for  her,  since  all  her  life 
long  she  had  never  had  much  to  do  with  children,  being  rather 
anxious  to  avoid  them,  if  anything.  Perhaps  their  helplessness 
and  dependence  appealed  to  her  in  a  way  that  tugged  at  the 


THROUGH   THE   STORM.  106 

strings  of  the  pride  in  which  she  had  wrapped  her  heart.  She 
taught  Elizabeth  many  things,  and  even  started  her  in  her  first 
spelling-book.  Then,  when  she  discovered  that  the  little  girl  was 
really  apt,  she  managed  it  so  that  she  went  to  school.  Here  Danny 
found  it  hard,  for  he  was  so  young.  Despite  the  doctor's  fear  for 
his  life,  he  had  fully  recovered  from  the  effects  of  his  accident — 
and  but  one  ambition  filled  the  child;  that  was  to  please  "the 
kind  lady."  So  that  when  Xaviera  brought  him  a  wonderful 
box  of  leaden  soldiers  and  some  gaily  colored  picture-books,  and 
showed  him  how  happy  he  could  make  himself  while  Elizabeth 
was  at  school,  he  never  questioned  her  assertion.  Toys  were  things 
so  wonderful  in  his  life  that  he  needed  little  coaxing  to  give  them 
his  full  attention. 

The  coming  of  the  summer  visitors  meant  also  an  increase 
of  work  for  the  Misses  Pomeroy.  Curiosity  brought  a  good  many. 
They  were  anxious  to  see  the  aristocratic  young  woman  whom  the 
Pomeroys  "  employed  " — their  niece,  they  were  told.  But  none 
of  them  believed  it.  And  yet  there  was  a  tacit  avoidance  of  the 
girl  by  the  better  element.  The  mystery  surrounding  her  had  not 
been  cleared.  To  the  surprise  of  the  inhabitants,  Mr.  Prayer  did 
not  leave  when  the  shooting  was  over.  He  rented  a  beautiful 
house  adjoining  the  Waverlys,  and  settled  in  it.  He  was  always  at 
the  Waverly  place — and  by  and  by  people  wondered  which  one  of 
the  Waverly  girls  could  be  the  attraction.  The  Waverly  girls 
themselves  knew  that  he  cared  for  neither,  and  only  Xaviera  Pom- 
eroy could  supply  the  missing  thread  to  the  quiet  determination 
of  the  man.  He  was  not  a  Catholic,  but  he  rented  a  pew  at  St. 
Mary's,  and  attended  Mass  every  Sunday — there  was  Mass  every 
Sunday  in  Segrovia  now,  and  often  Vespers.  He  waited  for  her 
—receiving  always  and  only  that  quiet  bend  of  the  head  in 


10«  THROUGH   THE   BTORM. 

acknowledgment  of  his  salute.  He  never  spoke  to  her  beyond  the 
barest  greeting — and  she  avoided  Mm,  But  his  silent  pertinacity 
weighed  upon  her  soul.  The  old  fear  of  him  had  disappeared,  true 
— but  the  fear  of  that  old  fear  lay  heavy  at  her  heart.  Not  even 
to  Father  Powers  had  she  given  her  entire  confidence.  It  was  a 
pity  that  her  pride,  her  reticence  kept  her  from  consulting  him, 
for  the  priest  was  a  man  who  could  see  clearly  through  many 
things,  and  his  advice — even  the  very  knowledge  that  he  knew 
all,  would  have  helped  her  over  many  a  dark  hour. 

Dark  hourit  there  were. 

In  spite  of  the  simple  life  she  above  all  things  desired  to  lead, 
that  high-strung  nature  could  not  go  on  its  way  without  moments 
of  depression  amounting  almost  to  terror.  The  nights  were  the 
worst.  Then  the  vague  terrors  at  which  she  could  laugh  during 
the  day  came  full  upon  her,  torturing  her.  She  lived  again  in  long 
past  scenes,  heard  again  the  voices  of  the  dead,  saw,  perhaps,  out  of 
the  gloom,  her  brother's  kind  face,  smiling  at  her.  Allied  to  this 
distressing  part  of  her  life  was  the  knowledge  that  in  all  these 
months  she  had  never  won  the  favor  of  that  Aunt  Magdalen  whom 
her  father  had  bade  her  try  to  love  and  care  for.  She  had  never 
spoken,  during  all  this  time,  a  single  kindly  word.  And  it  had 
become  a  passion  with  Xaviera  to  live  down  the  distrust  by  which 
she  was  surrounded — so  that,  when  she  saw  it  here  in  her  own 
home,  something  like  despair  assailed  her.  A  few  there  were  who 
believed  in  and  loved  her.  Father  Powers  saw  a  storm-tossed  soul, 
hungry  for  refuge.  He  often  talked  of  her  to  Dr.  Fawcett,  who 
listened,  but  always  silently,  never  commenting.  Muriel  Thornton 
loved  her,  with  a  love  that  was  strangely  sweet  to  the  girl,  and  she 
returned  the  affection — her  devotion  at  times  surprising  herself. 
Elizabeth  and  Danny  loved  her;  and  Aunt  Winifred;  Phyllis  also* 


THROUGH   THE   STORM.  107 

Xaviera  tried  to  be  content.  Her  strong  "I  will"  had  gone 
forth,  and  she  would  conquer  though  it  took  her  lifelong  efforts. 
Phyllis  had  changed  greatly — not  alone  to  a  belief  in  something 
higher  than  the  self-love  she  had  set  upon  a  pedestal,  but  some 
new  change  was  working  in  her,  a  change  that  Xaviera  could  not 
understand.  And  being  so  reserved  herself,  she  forgot  that  it  was 
well  to  try  to  penetrate  the  hidden  sorrow  of  such  a  girl  as  Phyllis 
Gordon.  Of  late  days  her  ill-humor  and  irritation  had  been  re- 
markable. She  was  easily  provoked  and  excited.  Often  during 
the  twenty  minutes  she  gave  to  her  friend  every  day  she  sat  with- 
out opening  her  lips. 

One  evening,  however,  she  came  rather  late,  and  found  Xaviera 
in  her  own  room.  They  talked  until  it  grew  quite  dark,  and  when 
Xaviera  would  have  risen  to  light  the  lamp,  Phyllis,  sitting  on  the 
floor  at  her  feet,  restrained  her. 

"  I  have  received  news  from  New  York,"  she  said.  "  I  want 
you  to  listen  to  it,  but  I  can  not  tell  it  if  you  do  not  sit  still — 
just  like  this,  in  the  twilight." 

"  Bad  news  ?  "  asked  Xaviera. 

Phyllis  laughed — and  when  her  friend  heard  that  mocking 
laugh  she  bent  quickly  to  look  into  her  face. 

"I — don't — know!  Sylvia  Gordon  is — at  last! — engaged  to 
be  married ! " 

"Yes?"  asked  Xaviera,  again.  She  did  not  know  what  to 
expect,  or  what  to  surmise,  from  that  queer  tone. 

"  To  Dick  Ferris." 

"  Dick  Ferris !  "  echoed  Xaviera.  She  had  never  heard  the 
name  before.  "  Who  is  Dick  Ferris  ?  " 

"  Who  is  he  ?  He  was  the  cause  of  my  being  sent  away  from 
New  York,"  said  Phyllis.  "  Sylvia  was  always  in  love  with  him, 


108  THROUaH   THE   STORM. 

always — but  they  had  to  get  rid  of  me  first.  And  it  took  them 
seven  months  to  accomplish  it,  with  me  out  of  the  way ! " 

Xaviera  understood.  The  girl's  heart  had  been  aching  all  the 
time — there  had  been  a  lover  at  the  bottom  of  it  all,  and  Phyllis 
had  never  told ;  confident,  perhaps,  of  his  integrity  and  his  truth, 
trusting  to  the  future  that  would  restore  him  to  her.  With  a  pang 
of  pity  Xaviera  took  the  girl  in  her  arms,  and  brought  her  beau- 
tiful head  close  to  her  bosom.  Phyllis  began  to  weep  silently. 
After  a  while  she  sat  up,  dried  her  eyes,  and  struggled  from 
Xaviera's  embrace. 

"  I  told  you  right  along  that  I  did  not  believe  in  love — I  might 
have  known  that  such  a  man  as  Dick  Ferris  couldn't  stand  the 
test,"  she  said.  "  And  now  I  am  done  with  it.  I  have  made  up 
my  mind.  Xaviera,  what  is  there  between  you  and  Mr.  Frayer  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

"  Nothing  ?    There  is  nothing  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  nothing." 

"  But  he  knew  you — " 

"And  if  he  did,  what  of  it?" 

"  Simply  this :  If  there  is  nothing  between  you,  I  am  going  to 
prove  to  my  Aunt  Isabel  that  though  she  condemned  me  to  a 
desert,  she  can  not  conquer  me.  I  shall  do  better  than  either  one 
of  her  cherished  daughters !  " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  that  I  intend  to  marry  Mr.  Frayer — who  is  not  Mr. 
Frayer  at  all,  as  you  and  I  know  well.  I  shall  marry  him — and 
that  as  soon  as  he  realizes  that  you  are  not  for  him.  He  must 
realize  that  soon.  One  can't  have  everything  in  this  world.  He 
is  rich  and  he  is  titled,  and  she  can  have  Dick  Ferris,  and  he  can 
have  her.11 


THROUGH   THE   BTORM.  109 

Xaviera's  face  paled. 

"  Child,  what  are  you  saying  ?  " 

"I  shall,  I  tell  you." 

"  He  has  asked— " 

"  Asked  ?  No.  But  it  is  because  he  thinks  he  may  yet  win  you 
— and  I  have  been  indifferent.  Never  mind." 

"  Oh,  Phyllis,  my  poor  child,  do  not  talk  so.  For  God's  sake 
do  not  think  of  such  a  marriage.  Lord  Allison — " 

"Lord  Allison!  You  knew  it,  then,  you  knew  it.  .Why 
wouldn't  you  trust  me  ?  Do  not  I  trust  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  surely,"  said  Xaviera,  bitterly.  "  Surely,  surely.  You 
have  trusted  me  just  now  with  your  tale  of  Dick  Ferris.  You 
knew  that  Mr.  Frayer  is  an  Englishman.  He  is  not  a  bad  man — 
but  he  can  be  very,  very  cruel.  No,  no,  Phyllis.  Better  for  you  to 
die  than  to  marry  Allison  Frayer." 

Phyllis  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Xaviera,  I  have  tried  to  reach  up  to  the  height  on  which  you 
stand.  It  is  useless — I  can  not." 

"  And  Dr.  Fawcett  ?  What  has  he  done  that  you  can  not  like 
him?  There  you  would  be  happy.  He  is  honest  and  he  is  true, 
and  he  is  fond  of  you,  I  know.  Your  heart,  dear,  is  to  be  con- 
sidered— your  affections — " 

"  Leave  them  out  of  the  question,  Xaviera.  I  gave  my  heart 
all  the  chance  it  is  going  to  get.  It  has  played  me  false.  I  am 
in  the  game  of  life  now  for  what  good  things  it  can  bring  me." 

And  this  at  eighteen !    Xaviera  was  silent. 

"  Mr.  Frayer  gives  a  dance  on  the  tenth,"  continued  Phyllis, 
lightly.  "  I  do  not  think  seven  months  in  Segrovia  have  deprived 
me  of  my  charm.  I  shall  wait  until  then  to  begin  operations." 
She  laughed  under  her  breath — and  Xaviera  knew  that  the  mock- 


110  THROUGH    THE   STORM. 

ing  mood  in  which  she  had  first  made  her  acquaintance  was  full 
upon  her.  "  He  spoke  particularly  of  you.  You  will  come  if  he 
invites  you  for  my  sake?  To  show  him  that  he  had  better  take 
the  good  the  gods  provide  ?  " 

"  I  will  never  enter  willingly  or  of  my  own  volition  into  the 
room  that  holds  Allison  Frayer,  or  breathe  the  same  air  with 
him,"  said  Xaviera.  "  I  came  to  Segrovia  to  get  away  from  him 
and  his  kind.  I  do  not  intend  to  seek  that  which  above  all  things, 
I  desire  to  avoid/' 

***** 

She  kept  her  word.  Neither  persuasion  nor  entreaty  could 
induce  her  to  attend  the  affair  given  by  Allison  Frayer  to  his 
erstwhile  townspeople.  And  during  all  that  time  Phyllis  was 
brilliant  as  the  butterfly  to  which  she  had  been  likened — and  no 
one  realized  that  the  gayety  was  forced,  and  that  underneath  wag 
heartache — none  but  Xaviera. 

The  evening  of  the  tenth  of  June  was  wet  and  stormy — but 
weather  mattered  little.  At  the  last  moment  Aunt  Mary  could 
not  go,  and  asked  the  Waverlys  to  call  for  Phyllis,  which  they  did 
gladly. 

Sitting  alone  before  the  fire  in  the  solitary  drawing-room,  Aunt 
Mary  knew  that  the  weirdness  of  the  storm  was  taking  possession 
of  her.  She  felt  oppressed  and  dreary,  half  wishing  that  she  had 
gone  with  Phyllis,  and  again  wishing  that  Phyllis  had  stayed  at 
home.  At  last,  calling  Fanny,  she  bade  her  wrap  up  warmly  and 
step  over  to  the  Pomeroys,  to  ask  Miss  Xaviera  if  she  would  mind 
coming  to  her  for  the  evening.  The  shrieking  of  the  wind  about 
the  gables  of  the  house  made  the  loneliness  unbearable.  This  was 
what  she  told  the  girl  when  she  came  in  obedience  to  her 
message. 


THROUGH    THE   STORM.  Ill 

"It  had  to  happen  that  that  dance  must  come  off  the  very 
evening  that  I  am  laid  up  with  this  wretched  rheumatism/'  she 
said,  when  Xaviera  entered.  "  You  will  not  consider  that  I  am 
imposing  on  you,  Miss  Pomeroy  ?  " 

"  No/'  said  Xaviera,  gently.  "  It  is  not  an  imposition  at  all. 
My  aunts,  as  you  perhaps  are  aware,  retire  early — and  I  am  always 
up  until  eleven  anyhow,  if  not  later — reading  or  writing  in  my  own 
room.  This  is  a  bad  night  to  be  alone.  I  think  I  am  rather  glad 
you  sent  for  me." 

She  stood  before  the  old  lady,  and  the  cross  upon  her  bosom 
geemed  to  take  on  a  thousand  hues  in  the  dancing  firelight.  Aunt 
Mary  looked  at  her  with  pleasure  in  her  glance.  Of  strong  de- 
termination herself,  she  thoroughly  appreciated  the  calm  resolve 
of  that  pale  face  which  masked  the  soul  of  iron ;  the  poise  of  that 
striking  dark  head,  so  confident  of  power. 

"  We  will  have  a  little  talk,  then,"  she  said.  "  Make  yourself 
comfortable — draw  your  chair  over  here.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  read  ?  Do  so,  and  I  shall  be  as  quiet  as  a  mouse.  I  do  not  want 
to  converse — but  the  presence  of  some  one  seems  necessary.  I 
must  be  getting  old." 

"  Phyllis  is  so  bright,  so  gay — she  fills  a  house  with  herself," 
said  Xaviera.  "  You  feel  the  contrast  when  she  is  not  here.  As 
for  reading — I  do  not  care  to,  unless  you  would  like  me  to  read 
aloud  to  you." 

"I  went  to  your  church  last  Sunday,"  said  Mrs.  Browne, 
irrelevantly.  "  Your  minister  is  a  fine  man,  isn't  he  ?  I  liked  his 
sermon  and  I  liked  your  singing.  Miss  Pomeroy,  there  is  some- 
thing about  your  voice  that  touched  me  for  the  first  time  in  years. 
Do  you  know  it  is  a  perfect  one  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Xaviera.    "  My  father  saw  that  it  was  well 


lia  THROUGH   THE   STORM. 

trained.  But  I  do  not  sing  much — I  do  not  care  to  sing.  I  have 
no  heart  for  music — except  when  I  go  there." 

"Why  there?"  asked  Aunt  Mary. 

"Because  there  I  am,  as  you  know  we  Catholics  believe,  in 
God's  presence." 

"  Oh,  is  that  it  ?    All  churches  are  God's  houses." 

"But  all  churches  do  not  possess  God."  Xaviera  smiled. 
"  Our  little  church  does." 

Mrs.  Browne  leaned  forward. 

"  Do  you  think  that  if  such  a  thing  were  possible — that  God 
Himself  were  really  present — He  could  stay  in  that  poor,  humble, 
little  church  of  yours?  Think  of  the  mightiness  of  a  God — and 
the  poverty  of  such  a  dwelling-place." 

Xaviera  caught  her  breath. 

"  God  took  humbler  dwelling-place  than  that  wooden  church, 
Mrs.  Browne,"  she  said.  "He  took  our  human  body,  and  our 
human  form  of  speech,  and  our  human  weakness.  If  He  could 
stoop  to  that —  Well,  who  can  question  God's  humility  ?  " 

Aunt  Mary  sat  back  in  her  chair. 

"  I  am  going  all  the  time  now.  But  I  should  like  to  under- 
stand the  service.  It  is  so  queer  to  me.  And  it  seems  so  important 
— as  if  your  minister  were  accomplishing  something.  Please  ex- 
plain it  to  me,  so  that  I  shall  not  be  altogether  lost  the  next  time." 

And  then  Xaviera,  simplifying  her  language  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, began  to  explain  the  sacrifice  of  the  Mass.  She  had  a  tender 
love  for  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  and  the  great  mystery  lost  nothing 
that  earthly  words  could  give  in  her  description  of  it.  Question 
after  question  came  from  Aunt  Mary's  lips,  and  question  after 
question  Xaviera  answered. 

Suddenly  the  bell  rang,  startling  them  both. 


THROUGH   THE   STORM.  118 

"  Oh/'  cried  Mrs.  Browne.  "  Who  can  that  be  ?  Some  one  for 
you,  probably.  Your  aunts  have  become  alarmed  at  your  absence 
— it  is  actually  half  past  ten  now." 

"  I  told  Aunt  Winifred  where  I  was  going — and  that  I  might 
not  return  until  late/'  said  Xaviera,  quietly.  "  Sit  still — I  will 
answer  the  bell." 

"It  can  not  be  Phyllis — it  is  entirely  too  early/'  said  Aunt 
Mary.  Xaviera  had  risen.  "  Do  not  open  the  door  until  you  are 
sure.  One  can  not  be  too  careful.  Burglars — " 

Xaviera  went  out  into  the  hall. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  she  called,  softly,  remembering  the  warning. 

"  It  is  I,  Miss  Pomeroy.    Open,  please." 

it  was  Edgar  Fawcett's  voice.  She  threw  the  door  open  a€ 
once,  and  the  wind,  finding  entrance,  came  in  gustily,  blowing 
out  the  flickering  light,  so  that  they  etood  in  darkness.  The  rain 
beat  on  Xaviera's  face  as  she  tried  to  bring  the  door  to.  Her 
fingers  were  trembling.  "It  is  you,  Miss  Pomeroy?  I  am  not 
deceived  ?  You  spoke  to  me  ?  " 

The  words  seemed  to  choke  him.  He  was  breathing  heavily. 
His  eyes  straining  through  the  darkness,  fastened  hungrily  on  the 
spot  of  light  on  Xaviera's  bosom — where  the  cross  lay.  And  then 
his  hand  touched  her  dress,  her  sleeve,  even  her  hair,  roughly,  as 
if  he  would  assure  himself  that  it  was  she. 

"It  is  I,  doctor,"  said  Xaviera.  "You  are  back  very  early. 
Surely  nothing  has  happened.  ?  Phyllis — " 

"  Where  were  you  ?  "  he  burst  forth.  "  Twenty  minutes  ago 
where  were  you?  On  the  hill  road  from  Frayer's?  Speak,  girl, 
speak !  "  His  voice  was  shaking,  his  grasp  harsh. 

Xaviera  grew  cold  with  nervousness  as  he  seized  her  wrist  and 
held  it. 


114  THROUGH    THE   STORM. 

"  I — don't  know/'  she  began,  vaguely.    "  I — " 

"  What  right  have  I  to  ask  ?  None.  But  I  insist  on  a  reply. 
Were  you  out  ?  Answer  me,  yes  or  no  ?  " 

"  I  beg  of  you—" 

He  laughed.  The  fingers  that  held  her  wrist  tightened— - 
the  other  hand  sought  her  arm.  He  almost  dragged  her  to  the 
doorstep.  The  rain  beat  down  upon  her  head  and  face.  With 
a  cry  of  indignation  she  struggled  to  release  herself.  In 
vain. 

"  There  is  light  here — I  can  see  you,"  he  said,  harshly.  "  Do 
not  try  to  reason  with  me.  You  were  not — no,  it  was  not  you! 
What  a  fool  I  am,  what  a  fool !  Tell  me,  tell  me — have  I  seen  you 
on  the  hill  road  about  a  half  hour  ago  ?  Will  you  speak  ?  Deny 
it!" 

"I  have  been  here  almost  three  hours,"  said  Xaviera.  Her 
strength  gave  out  and  she  would  have  fallen  had  she  not  leaned 
against  the  doorpost.  "I  beg  of  you  to  release  me,"  she  said, 
wearily. 

"  How  did  you  get  here?  " 

"Fanny  came  for  me."  His  impetuosity  robbed  her  of  all 
resistance. 

"  Frayer !    Have  you  not  seen  Frayer,  then  ?  " 

"  You  are  going  too  far,"  warned  Xaviera.  "  For  a  stranger 
you  have  gone  much  too  far." 

"  Oh,  forgive  me.  I  was  mad.  I  thought — I  do  not  know  what 
I  thought.  I  will  explain.  But  not  now,  Xaviera,  not  now."  The 
strong  man  was  greatly  shaken. 

"Where  are  you,  Miss  Pomeroy?"  called  Aunt  Mary,  from 
the  open  doorway.  "  The  floor  is  soaking  with  the  rain,"  she  went 
on,  complainingly.  "  The  place  will  be  ruined.  What  folly !  Are 


THROUGH   THE   STORM.  115 

you  mad  to  stand  bareheaded  in  such  a  torrent  ?  Who  is  that  with 
you  ?  Dr.  Fawcett  ?  Why —  Did  you  come  for  Xaviera  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  came  for  her.  I  wish  I  were  able 
to  take  her  away  with  me."  There  was  a  strange  quiver  in  his 
voice — but  Xaviera  heard  nothing.  "  I  am  a  barbarian — a  brute ! " 
he  went  on,  passionately.  "  Forgive  me,  Xaviera,  forgive  me,  but  I 
could  not —  Oh,  you  will  think  me  mad,  I  know,  unless  I  tell 
you  all."  He  released  her,  then  paused  until  he  saw  that  she  was 
safely  inside,  and  then  walked  quickly  from  them  down  the  rain- 
swept street.  Xaviera,  shaken  and  trembling,  closed  the  door  be- 
hind her. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Mary.  "  In  the  name  of  all  things 
wonderful,  what  is  the  matter  with  the  man  ?  " 

"  If  I  only  knew,"  said  Xaviera. 

"  Could  he  have  been  drinking  ?  "  surmised  Aunt  Mary.  "  But 
no — he  never  touches  anything  of  that  description.  He  was  in 
evening  dress.  He  must  have  come  straight  from  Mr.  Prayer's." 

"  Probably,"  said  Xaviera. 

"  The  idea  of  coming  through  such  a  storm — and  on  foot,"  and 
then  Mrs.  Browne  began  to  laugh.  "  It  is  jealousy,  probably.  He 
is  afraid  of  Mr.  Fra37er's  attentions  to  Phyllis !  " 

"  That  must  be  it,"  said  Xaviera.  She  was  shivering  with  the 
cold.  Her  hair  was  wet  from  the  rain,  and  her  shoulders.  She 
stooped  down  to  the  fire,  holding  her  hands  to  the  blaze ;  hoping 
that  Aunt  Mary's  keen  eyes  might  not  read  the  expression  on  her 
face. 


116  IN   CONFIDENCE. 


CHAPTEE   X. 

IN    CONFIDENCE. 

XAVIERA  spent  the  next  day  in  sore  perplexity.  She  could  not 
understand  the  strange  actions  of  the  physician  the  night  before, 
and  there  was  no  explanation  proffered.  Phyllis  came  shortly 
before  she  started  out  on  the  round  of  visits  she  paid  every  evening 
— first  to  the  little  church,  to  Mrs.  Thornton's,  and  then  to  the 
Bernard  children.  After  that,  home  to  her  beloved  books.  She 
did  not  know  that  these  visits  to  Muriel  Thornton  were  the 
stumbling-blocks  between  her  and  her  Aunt  Magdalen.  Of  all  in 
the  village  she  was  the  most  ignorant  concerning  the  past  of  her 
own  people.  She  knew  nothing  of  their  history,  or  the  events  that 
had  gone  to  round  out  their  lives. 

"Did  you  quarrel  with  Dr.  Fawcett  last  evening?"  began 
Xaviera,  abruptly,  as  soon  as  the  young  girl  entered. 

"  I  ?  "  Phyllis  opened  her  eyes.  "  I  ?  Why,  no.  Aunt  Mary 
tells  me  he  was  to  our  house — you  saw  him  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  saw  him.  I  thought  he  might  have  quarreled  with 
you." 

"  Oh,  no.  He  left  about  ten  o'clock.  Somebody  sent  for  him, 
and  he  did  not  return." 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  time  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  Phyllis  caught  her  breath.  "  It  was  glorious,  wonder- 
ful !  A  fairyland !  And  I  have  found  out  all  about  Mr.  Prayer, 
even  though  you  wouldn't  tell  me,  Xaviera.  He  is  an  English 
baronet — he  told  me  so  himself.  He  has  four  castles!"  She 


IN   CONFIDENCE.  117 

clapped  her  hands  in  ecstasy.  "  Four !  What  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

"  His  first  wife  found  one  enough  to  die  in/'  said  Xaviera, 
coldly.  "  Where  did  Mr.  Frayer  go  when  he  left  you  at  ten 
o'clock?" 

"He  was  with  me  all  evening.  Ten  o'clock?  Yes — he  did 
leave  about  that  time — he  had  some  arrangements  to  see  to  about 
the  supper,  he  said." 

Xaviera  was  silent.  Something  must  have  occurred  to  put  the 
self-contained  Dr.  Fawcett  into  such  a  state  of  excitement.  He 
had  looked  like  a  man  suddenly  distraught.  Why,  why,  why? 
That  "  why  "  had  tormented  her  all  day.  Was  it  because  he  was 
jealous  of  Phyllis?  Perhaps  he  had  missed  her  and  Frayer,  and 
in  his  excitement  had  confounded  her  with  the  girl.  That  must 
be  it! 

But  this  was  so  improbable  that  even  long  after  Phyllis  had 
gone,  her  mind  twisted  about  the  reasons  he  might  have  had.  Her 
common  sense  told  her  that  such  a  thing  could  not  be — that  no 
man  in  his  senses  could  act  in  such  a  manner.  Again  and  again 
the  thought  of  it  occurred  to  her — and  she  could  find  no  explana- 
tion. She  tried  to  pray,  but  her  thoughts  wandered ;  she  went  to 
the  Bernard  children  first — but  even  their  affectionate  caresses  and 
the  joy  with  which  they  welcomed  her  could  not  take  her  mind 
from  the  unpleasant  subject.  When  she  entered  Mrs.  Thornton's 
she  found  the  old  lady  seated  before  the  crucifix.  She  glanced  up 
eagerly — but  Xaviera's  face  was  tranquil,  outwardly,  and  Muriel 
Thornton  breathed  more  freely. 

"  You  come  at  the  right  moment,  as  always,"  she  said,  in  her 
friendly  tones.  "  I  am  tired  and  weary  and  in  need  of  comfort.  I 
have  not  closed  an  eye  all  night." 


118  IN   CONFIDENCE. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  old  mother  ?  "  asked  Xaviera.  "  And  can  I 
help  you?" 

"  Have  you  heard  that  Segrovia,  to  its  ill  or  good  fortune,  has 
had  a  whole  theatrical  troupe  descend  upon  it  ?  That  they  intend 
to  stay  all  this  week  just  for  one  performance?  I  believe  there 
is  an  English  gentleman  in  the  town  who  has  been  the  means  of 
bringing  them." 

"  I  have  not  heard,"  said  Xaviera,  indifferently.  "  It  is  pos- 
sible, though.  When  did  they  come  ?  " 

"Last  night — in  all  that  storm.  I  have  never  told  you, 
Xaviera,  that  my  child — the  only  child  I  ever  had,  is  still  alive." 

Xaviera  looked  at  her  quickly.  The  sadness  in  the  old  lady'g 
voice  went  to  her  heart.  With  the  tenderness  she  always  felt  when 
in  the  presence  of  this  lonely  woman,  she  went  to  her  and  put  her 
hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  She  was  everything  a  mother's  heart  could  desire,"  went  on 
the  plaintive  voice.  "  But  she  would  not  stay  with  me.  She  was 
too  bright,  too  beautiful  to  lead  the  quiet  life  I  desired  for  her 
above  all  things.  No — she  would  not  stay  with  me,  and  I  have  not 
seen  her  in  many  years.  But  my  constant  prayers  have  been  that 
before  I  die  her  erring  feet  may  come  back  to  the  paths  she  has 
forsaken — "  Her  voice  was  choked  with  sobs.  "I  prayed  that 
God  would  not  let  her  die  an  unrepentant  death.  And  yester- 
Bay-" 

"What  of  yesterday?"  asked  Xaviera,  tenderly.  "Tell  me — 
what  of  yesterday  ?  " 

"  I  saw  her.  She  is  here  with  those  actors  and  actresses  who 
have  come  from  God  knows  where,  and  who  will  go  out  again  into 
the  world.  Did  no  thought  of  her  mother  cross  her  mind  ?  Surely, 
surely,  it  must  have  been  a  longing  to  see  me  that  brought  her  once 


IN   CONFIDENCE.  119 

more  to  Segrovia  ?  She  knows  I  am  here — for  to-day  I  sat  waiting, 
waiting,  waiting.  It  seemed  so  long.  And  she  passed  the  house, 
Xaviera — passed  it  in  her  carriage,  laughing  as  she  rode  by.  And 
I,  sitting  at  the  window,  would  have  gone  out  to  her,  called  after 
her,  but  that  my  trembling  limbs  refused  to  bear  my  weight.  I 
could  not  move — I  was  stunned.  My  dear,  my  dear,  my  heart  is 
breaking.  If  God  had  not  let  me  live  to  see  this  day !  " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Xaviera,  pitifully.  "  She  must  come  to  you — 
dhe  must  see  you.  Surely  a  girl  must  love  her  mother.  I  will  go, 
I  will  tell  her  about  you — yes,  I  will  bring  her  to  you/' 

But  Muriel  Thornton  drew  back,  shuddering. 

"  Not  you,"  she  said,  "  not  you." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  urged  Xaviera.    "  I  would  speak  kindly — " 

"  Remember  the  precarious  position  you  occupy,"  said  Muriel 
Thornton,  with  energy.  "  You  dare  not  visit  any  of  those  people 
— Segrovians  are  but  human,  and  it  will  set  tongues  wagging 
again.  No,  Xaviera — if  needs  must  I  shall  go  myself.  But  I  can 
scarcely  believe  that  she  will  not  feel  my  great  love  for  her — that 
ehe  will  not  understand  and  come — " 

There  was  a  sudden  scream,  a  call  for  help  from  the  road  out- 
side. Xaviera  started  to  her  feet,  listening.  Again  the  cry  came, 
and  this  time  she  recognized  Elizabeth's  voice.  She  waited  no 
longer,  but  with  rapid  steps  passed  out  into  the  hall,  throwing  the 
dcor  wide.  The  poor  child,  knowing  that  Xaviera  had  left  for 
Mrs.  Thornton's,  had  run  in  that  direction ;  but  her  strength  gave 
out  at  the  very  gate,  and  she  had  fallen  to  the  ground.  Before 
Xaviera  could  reach  her,  the  man  who  had  been  pursuing  her  bent 
over  and  dragged  her  up  brutally.  With  an  exclamation,  Xaviera 
thrust  herself  hurriedly  forward,  holding  out  one  arm  to  intercept 
the  heavy  blow  that  would  have  descended  on  the  child's  head. 


120  IN   CONFIDENCE. 

"  It  is  father ! "  panted  Elizabeth,  in  frantic  fear.  "  It  is 
father.  He  has  broken  all  our  pretty  things !  He  has  spoiled  our 
lace  curtain !  He  has  torn  the  bed  apart !  Everything  is  gone, 
everything — and  now  we're  all  poor  again,  Miss  Pomeroy,  now  we 
are  poor  again !  " 

A  torrent  of  oaths  welled  from  the  man's  lipe.  He  made  an- 
other lunge  forward  to  strike  the  child,  but  Mrs.  Thornton  had 
followed  Xaviera  to  the  gate,  and  now,  with  kindly  hands,  led 
Elizabeth  away  from  the  frail  protection  of  her  friend's  skirts — 
to  which  she  clung  desperately. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  sobbed  Elizabeth.  "  I  am  afraid.  He  will  hurt 
her — he  will  hurt  Miss  Pomeroy." 

Xaviera,  meanwhile,  kept  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  drunkard, 
and  her  steady  gaze  cowed  him. 

"  So  you  would  strike  a  child ! "  said  Xaviera.  "  A  poor, 
delicate  little  child !  And  you  call  yourself  a  man  ?  " 

"  Oh !  You  are  the  young  lady  who  is  teaching  them  to  rise 
above  their  station  ?  "  he  said,  sneeringly.  "  I  have  heard  of  you 
— and  I  will  thank  you  kindly,  ma'am,  to  attend  to  your  own 
affairs  and  let  me  attend  to  mine.  Them's  my  children — " 

She  did  not  deign  to  answer  him.  The  gate  stood  open,  and 
with  stately  step  she  came  out  and  closed  it  behind  her,  hoping  that 
by  this  action  he  might  forget  that  Elizabeth  was  sheltered  within. 
He  followed,  indeed,  her  silence  emboldening  him.  If  he  had 
heard  the  petty  scandal  of  the  town,  he  remembered  it  now,  and 
added  to  it,  for  he  sent  a  volley  of  abuse  after  her  that  sickened 
her.  She  stood  still,  listening,  and  her  soul  revolted.  What  a  fool 
she  was!  Why  had  she  come  here — to  brave  this  thing,  among 
these  miserable,  small-minded — 

"  You  would  teach  my  children  to  be  like  yourself/'  screamed 


IN   CONFIDENCE.  131 

the  rasping  voice.  "  But  not  while  I  have  anything  to  do  with 
them.  It  is  well  for  you,  with  such  people  as  you  come  from,  to 
cross  the  paths  of  those  who  are  respectable  and  dictate  to  them. 
Your  mother — " 

Some  one  sent  him  reeling  against  the  roadside  then,  so  forcibly 
that  he  stumbled  and  fell.  But  Xaviera  did  not  heed.  The  new- 
comer bent  over  the  prostrate  figure,  saying  a  few  words  to  him  in 
a  low  voice.  But  Xaviera  did  not  hear.  She  stood  like  one  carved 
in  stone.  Her  mother !  Who  was  her  mother  ?  The  question  rose 
with  new  force  to  annoy  her.  What  meant  these  insinuations, 
these  taunts  ?  Who  was  her  mother  ?  She  thought  of  Magdalen 
Pomeroy's  face  when  she  had  uttered  her  mother's  name.  She 
smiled  a  little.  Surely  that  was  Dr.  Fawcett.  Witness  to  all  her 
humiliations,  why  not  this  ?  He  came  up  to  her. 

"  I  thought  he  had  come  this  way — Danny  told  me  he  had  tried 
to  beat  Elizabeth,"  he  said.  "  And  I  followed.  That  settles  it. 
To-morrow  I  shall  see  that  he  is  put  where  he  can  do  no  further 
harm,  and  the  children  taken  from  under  his  control  for  ever/' 

She  was  not  listening. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  breathed.  "  You  know  ?  My  mother — I  can 
bear  it  if  some  one  will  only  tell  me — some  one  who  will  be 
sorry — " 

Her  voice  died  away.    His  grave  eyes  rested  on  her  face. 

"And  I  have  added  to  your  burden,"  he  said,  with  infinite 
regret  in  his  tones.  "  Let  me  help  you." 

"  I  need  no  help,"  she  said.    "  I  only  want — to  know." 

"  Ah !  "  bitterly.  "  That  is  true.  You  need  no  one — no  one 
but  yourself.  You  are  sufficient  to  yourself  alone." 

"  What  does  that  matter?  "  she  asked,  impatiently.  "  The  only 
thing  now  is  what  you  can  tell  me.  My  mother — " 


m  IN   CONFIDENCE. 

"Miss  Pomeroy,  can  I,  or  you,  or  any  one,  account  for  the 
vagaries  of  a  drink-maddened  brain?  Who  was  your  mother?  I 
never  saw  her  in  my  life.  And  you  yourself  know  more  of  her 
than  I  do.  Because  the  fellow  uttered  the  first  vile  thoughts  that 
came  to  him,  must  you  believe  them,  or  ask  the  reason  why  ?  " 

Xaviera  threw  her  head  back,  hastily,  proudly. 

"  You  are  right.  He  caught  me  in  an  unguarded  moment. 
These  last  few  hours  have  been  hard  upon  me.  I  thank  you.'* 

"  Will  you  trust  me  ?  "  he  began,  earnestly.  "  I  can  not  ex- 
plain my  conduct  of  last  evening.  I  may  have  to,  but  I  am  hop- 
ing against  hope  that  I  will  not  have  to.  Not  for  my  sake,  but  for 
yours.  Ah,  I  wonder  why  I  distrust  your  strength !  I  seem  to  see 
so  much  more  clearly  than  you — I  understand  things  more  fully. 
There  is  danger  to  your  peace  of  mind  in  Segrovia.  Would  it  not 
be  better  to  leave  now — if  only  for  a  few  weeks  ?  There  are  other 
places  besides  this — where  prejudice  will  be  less  hard  to  over- 
come— " 

She  stared  at  him,  frowning. 

"  I  am  battling  against  this  prejudice  in  the  dark — and  because 
of  that  very  thing  I  shall  fight  it  out  to  the  bitter  end,"  she  said, 
with  sparkling  eyes.  "  I  need  no  one." 

"No  one?" 

"  No  one — save  Him  whom  I  possess  in  all  His  fulness — God ! 
I  have  not  taken  this  step  without  due  consideration.  I  am  here 
—and  here  I  mean  to  stay.  Something  in  my  heart  tells  me  that 
I  am  sent  for  some  great  purpose.  Shall  I  shirk  this  since  I  find  it 
ready  at  my  hand,  waiting  only  for  the  veil  to  be  withdrawn? 
Never." 

"  And  how  long  can  you  stand  it  ?  "  he  burst  forth,  passion- 
ately. "  Do  you  not  think  that  I  can  see  how  the  net  is  drawing 


IN  CONFIDENCE.  188 

about  yon,  closer,  closer,  closer,  every  day?  Was  it  for  love  of 
Segrovia  that  Allison  Frayer  rented  the  Gahles?  He  comes  for 
you,  Xaviera,  from  the  life  you  know,  and  the  way  that  leads 
beyond.  He  returns  to  it,  with  you." 

"  With  me  ?  "  she  laughed  harshly.  "  Yes.  If  a  woman's  dead 
body  is  worth  anything  to  a  man,  then  will  he  return — with  me." 

"  You  loved  him  once."    His  voice  challenged  her. 

"  I  did/'  she  acknowledged.  "  I  loved  him — once.  But  there 
was  the  ancient,  miserable  prejudice  against  my  religion.  He 
came  from  that  Elizabethan  stock  who  have  persecuted  Catholics 
when  and  where  they  found  them,  and  who  hold  the  strong  antag- 
onism of  the  ages  under  the  outer  polish  of  to-day.  I  was  young, 
blind,  infatuated.  My  father  saw  the  danger — my  brother  warned 
me.  I  would  not  listen.  Oh,  no !  Was  I  not  a  Catholic  ?  And  a 
Pomeroy?  Were  not  these  two  things  enough?  For  my  father 
taught  me  to  be  proud  of  my  own  strength,  and  to  rely  on  it. 

"  And  then  his  mother  died — his  mother.  And  on  her  death- 
bed he  promised  her  he  would  never  marry  one  of  my  faith.  Alas, 
for  the  love  of  Xaviera  Pomeroy !  For  when  he  told  me,  young  as 
I  was,  I  could  see  the  danger  into  which  an  earthly  love  could 
lead  me — the  danger  of  apostasy ! 

"  He  married  another — thinking  perhaps  to  forget  the  young 
artist  who  had  nothing  but  her  faith,  and  her  talents,  and  her 
strong,  strong  will!  But  he  could  not!  Even  before  the  poor 
creature  he  had  made  his  wife  died  out  of  very  heartsickness,  he, 
being  Godless,  persecuted  me.  He  came  to  Frank — who  was  dying 
even  then.  He  would  not  have  lived — much  longer — I  know — 
But  the  end  would  not  have  come  so  soon — the  threats  of  the  man 
terrified  him  for  the  girl  he  must  leave  to  fight  the  battle  of  life 
alone.  Frank  died  that  night  in  my  arms.  Before  he  died — " 


124  IN   CONFIDENCE. 

She  paused,  trying  to  recover  her  breath,  for  she  was  trembling. 

"  He  made  me  promise  to  go  away — to  leave  the  world  alto- 
gether if  I  could  find  the  vocation,  or,  barring  that,  to  seek  the 
shelter  of  my  people — of  those  who  belonged  to  me  by  blood.  As 
soon  as  I  could  do  so  I  managed  it.  I  came — here.  And  when  I 
met  him — that  first  day —  Even  on  my  way  here —  Oh,  it  is 
dreadful,  it  is  awful.  No  wonder  the  terror  of  it  oppresses  me. 
That  night,  long  ago,  you  remember — the  first  night  you  saw 
me?  He  passed  me,  held  my  arm — looked  into  my  face.  And 
laughed.  Oh,  I  was  afraid,  afraid,  afraid — for  I  am  only  a  woman 
after  all!" 

Into  the  man's  face,  as  she  spoke  so  rapidly,  pouring  forth  her 
eager  words,  striving  to  justify  herself,  there  came  a  strange  light. 
She  did  not  see  it,  nor  would  he,  understanding  her,  dare  to  let 
her  see  it. 

"  That  is  just  why  it  is  so  hard,"  said  he, "  because  you  are  only 
a  tender-hearted,  sensitive  woman  after  all.  Child,  you  are  passing 
through  the  worst  phase  of  it  now.  Be  strong  as  only  you  know 
how.  Be  brave.  Listen  to  me.  You  have  told  Father  Powers 
any  of  this?" 

"Very  little.  I  should  not  have  told  you — it  is  an  evidence 
that  I  am  growing  weak."  She  drew  back  now,  ashamed  of  the 
rush  of  emotion  that  had  prompted  her  to  say  so  much  to  him. 
"  I  am  not  given  to  making  confidences — you  forced  this  one  on 
yourself." 

"  Thank  God,"  he  said,  fervently.  "  For  I  am  interested  in 
you  and  in  your  struggle.  Last  night  I  thought  that  you  had 
failed — last  night  I  thought  I  saw  you  on  the  hill  road,  talking  to 
Allison  Frayer — with  his  arm  about  you.  Xaviera,  the  sight  was 
a  dreadful  one.  It  impelled  me  to  seek  you — to  find  you — and  to 


IN   CONFIDENCE.  125 

taunt  yon;  nay,  to  beg  of  you  to  leave  here  rather  than  risk 
defeat—" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Xaviera.  "  My  brother  bade  me  come — and  I 
have  said  that  I  will  stay.  You  have  yet  to  learn,  Dr.  Fawcett,  the 
power  of  my  will." 

"  I  have  already  learned  it,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett,  under  his  breath. 
"  I  have  already  learned  it." 


126  TEE   MESSAGE. 


CHAPTEK   XL 

THE  MESSAGE. 

SHE  was  not  sorry — not  even  when  she  thought  it  over.  The 
bitterness  no  longer  weighed  upon  her.  Somehow,  the  knowledge 
that  this  honest  man  understood  made  her  singularly  happy.  She 
wished  that  she  had  told  it  to  him  more  completely,  more  in  detail, 
so  that  he  would  realize  every  bit  of  it;  so  that  he  would  feel  her 
position  still  more  keenly,  since  he  was  her  friend.  Her  mind 
was  occupied,  too,  with  the  Bernard  children.  After  Dr.  Fawcett's 
words  to  him,  whatever  they  had  been,  the  father  disappeared 
again.  But  wreck  and  ruin  were  left  Xaviera's  little  prot6g£s,  and 
Elizabeth's  despair  was  absolute.  Danny  had  been  thrown  into  a 
fever  by  the  man's  drunken  violence ;  luckily  the  girl  escaped  with- 
out serious  injury,  thanks  to  her  friend's  interference.  She  had 
little  time  to  spare  from  her  work  that  day,  for  all  three  sewed 
energetically  until  nightfall.  Dr.  Fawcett  came  in  to  give  her 
news  of  the  children  in  the  morning.  Some  kind  neighbors  had 
tried  to  restore  order,  he  said,  but  the  poor  little  place  was  but  the 
shadow  of  its  former  neatness. 

Among  the  many  visitors  who  came  and  went  to  and  from  the 
Pomeroys  there  was  talk  of  nothing  but  the  actors  whom  Mr. 
Frayer  had  brought  to  play  at  the  Gables — hiring  them  a  week  to 
give  one  night's  performance.  There  was  one  among  them  who 
was  a  wonderful  singer — Miss  Pamela  Danby ;  and  Xaviera  won- 
dered how  it  fared  with  Muriel  Thornton — and  if  she  had  gone 


THE   ME8SA.Q-E.  127 

that  day  to  see  her  daughter.  That  must  be  her  first  visit  as  soon 
as  she  could  get  away — perhaps  Dr.  Fawcett  could  manage  to  bring 
the  much  desired  meeting  about. 

Phyllis  had  learned  by  this  time  that  if  she  waited  until  dusk 
she  had  a  better  opportunity  of  seeing  Xaviera  alone,  of  convers- 
ing with  her — and  often  her  friend  allowed  her  to  walk  with  her 
to  the  places  that  Phyllis,  laughingly,  called  her  missions. 

"  What  a  delight ! "  said  Phyllis,  this  evening,  when,  on  enter- 
ing, she  saw  the  machines  closed,  noticed  that  supper  was  over, 
and  that  Xaviera  had  her  hat  on.  "  Now,  you  can  come  right  out 
with  me,  and  perhaps  walk  home — and  perhaps  talk  good  humor 
into  Aunt  Mary.  Her  rheumatism  has  made  her  so  cranky  that 
I  can  not  stay  in  the  house.  Come  up,  like  a  charitable  soul, 
and  try  to  cheer  her  a  little.  Do  you  know,  Xaviera,  she  is 
talking  of  you  all  the  time?  What  did  you  say  to  her  the  other 
night?" 

"We  were  talking  about  my  religion,  principally,"  said 
Xaviera.  "  But  I  have  other  places  to  go,  and  unless  you  are 
willing  to  come  with  me,  I  am  afraid —  Who  is  that  man,  Phyllis  ? 
See  how  impudently  he  is  staring  at  us." 

They  were  on  the  street  now.  Phyllis  looked  up  to  meet  the 
glance  of  a  pair  of  bold  eyes — only  by  way  of  passing,  however, 
for  his  interest  centered  in  Xaviera.  In  fact,  he  stopped  as  she 
approached  him,  lifting  his  hat  with  a  swagger  air. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "  But  you  are  Miss  Pomeroy, 
are  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  am  Miss  Pomeroy,"  she  answered,  haughtily. 

"  I  thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken.  In  London  three  years 
ago,  I  heard  you  and  your  brother  at  the  Met — " 

*  Let  us  go,  Phyllis,"  said  Xaviera,  hastily.    She  grasped  her 


188  THE    MESSAGE. 

companion's  arm  and  rushed  her  past,  leaving  the  man  staring 
after  them. 

"  Well — she  isn't  on  the  road,  that's  sure,"  he  said.  "  Wonder 
what  Danby  will  say  when  I  tell  her  Xaviera  Pomeroy's  here. 
Won't  believe  me,  I'll  bet.  What  a  find !  Xaviera  Pomeroy ! " 

He  chuckled  to  himself. 

"You  see,"  said  Xaviera,  "you  can't  get  away  from  it,  no 
matter  how  you  try.  Isn't  it  too  bad ! "  She  spoke  in  a  vexed 
tone.  "  He  thought  he  could  claim  comradeship  with  me,  I  sup- 
pose. He  must  be  one  of  that  strolling  band  Segrovia  is  talking 
about." 

"It  is  no  crime,"  said  Phyllis,  stoutly.  "I  do  not  see  why 
you  should  let  it  disturb  you.  Just  look  ahead,  Xaviera.  Where 
are  you  taking  me  ?  " 

"  To  the  Bernards  first — poor  children.  Phyllis,  you  could  do 
so  much  good  if  you  would  only  interest  yourself — " 

"  I  intend  to,"  said  Phyllis,  softly.  "  Dear  Xaviera,  every  day 
I  have  been  thinking  over  what  you  have  said  to  me — and  the  more 
I  contrast  your  words  with  the  outward  polish  of  Mr.  Frayer  the 
more  I  realize  how  true  you  are  to  noble  things.  Xaviera,  after 
knowing  you,  I  can't  be  untrue  to  myself — I  can't  be.  You  have 
made  a  different  being  of  me — and  even  though  I  give  way  to  the 
speech  I  learned  before  I  met  you,  my  heart  is  changed.  The 
same  frivolities  do  not  please  me.  I  am  looking  below  the  sur- 
face—" 

Xaviera,  taking  her  hand,  held  it  tenderly.  No  words  were 
necessary. 

"  So,"  went  on  Phyllis,  "  I  shall  not  try  to  make  Mr.  Frayer 
care  for  me — and  maybe,  after  a  while,  if  Dr.  Fawcett —  You 
would  like  it,  if  I  married  Dr.  Fawcett,  Xaviera?" 


THE   MESSAGE.  129 

"  Yes,"  said  Xaviera,  without  hesitation.  "  There  is  a  great 
difference,  Phyllis.  Allison  Frayer  is  not  a  good  man." 

"  I  contrasted  the  two  dispositions — taking  your  words  as  a 
guide/'  said  Phyllis,  calmly.  "  The  Englishman  is  so  faultless,  his 
carriage  so  elegant,  his  manner  so  polished — without  a  flaw.  On 
the  contrary,  the  other  fairly  shouts  at  you  if  your  actions  do  not 
please  him — yet,  he  has  an  earnestness  that  Mr.  Frayer  lacks.  You 
taught  me  to  perceive  this,  Xaviera.  Maybe,  after  a  while,  if  the 
doctor  really  likeg  me  as  Aunt  Mary  says  he  does,  I  ^an  begin  to 
care,  too." 

She  spoke  wistfully.    Xaviera  was  silent. 

"  How  about  Dick  Ferris  ?  "  she  ventured  then. 

"  The  spot  is  a  sore  one,"  said  Phyllis,  simply.  "  I  do  not  want 
to  talk  of  him." 

"  But  you  will  tell  Dr.  Fawcett — in  case — " 

"  Oh,  Xaviera,  no !  " 

"Oh,  Phyllis,  yes!" 

"  Xaviera,  you  don't  understand  men." 

"  And  you  do  ?  A  man  worthy  the  name  will  love  you  the  better 
because  of  your  trust  in  him.  Phyllis,  you  do  not  know  that  char- 
acter. His  hand  is  firm  as  steel,  and  his  heart  pure  gold.  He  will 
make  a  good  husband,  but  a  better  friend.  And  between  friends 
there  should  be  perfect,  absolute,  entire  trust.  Has  he  said  any- 
thing to  you  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Phyllis,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  indifferently. 
"  And  I  don't  want  him  to.  It  is  a  sort  of  family  arrangement, 
and  he  and  Aunt  Mary  can  settle  it  between  them.  Of  course,  now 
that  I  have  decided — " 

She  spoke  with  such  assurance,  confident  in  the  power  that  her 
beauty  gave  her — the  key  that  had  opened  the  door  of  many  tri- 


180  THE   MESSAGE. 

umphs  for  her  before  to-day.  What  a  self-assured  nature  this  was, 
thought  Xaviera,  smiling.  Nothing  seemed  to  shake  it. 

"  This  is  the  Bernard  house ;  come  in  with  me,"  said  Xaviera. 

Elizabeth  sat  mending  the  curtain  for  the  window,  trying  to 
piece  its  strips  together.  Her  eyes  were  swollen  with  weeping. 
She  had  endeavored  to  straighten  things  out  as  they  had  been,  but 
it  was  a  hopeless  effort.  When  Xaviera  entered,  she  threw  the 
curtain  from  her  and  ran  to  meet  her  with  a  loud  burst  of  tears. 
Danny,  hearing  Elizabeth,  began  to  cry  also,  and  for  the  next  few 
moments  Xaviera  had  all  she  could  do  to  comfort  them,  listening 
to  the  poor  little  housewife's  lamentations  over  the  destruction  of 
her  treasures. 

"  Now,  just  wait  a  minute,"  she  said.  "  If  you  cry  any  longer 
I  won't  be  able  to  say  a  word — and  I  am  sure  you  want  to  listen  to 
me,  don't  you,  dear?  Hush,  now,  until  we  see  what  has  really 
happened.  The  dishes  are  gone — well,  there  were  only  a  few,  and 
there  are  some  pretty  blue  ones  at  Mason's — such  pretty  blue  ones, 
with  gold  bands  on  them !  The  curtain !  Put  that  up  the  way  it 
is  for  to-night.  We'll  have  a  new  one  for  to-morrow.  And  see," 
she  went  on,  gently;  "the  picture  of  the  Sacred  Heart  is  un- 
touched, dearie;  and  its  light  still  burning.  God  has  sent  you  a 
little  cross  to  bear;  it  will  come  right  in  the  end." 

"  But  I'm  afraid  of  papa,"  said  Danny.    "  I'm  awful  afraid." 

"  He  would  not  touch  you,  Danny — he  loves  Danny." 

«  But  he  will  beat  Elizabeth." 

"  Elizabeth  can  run  away — he  wouldn't  touch  Elizabeth,  either, 
if  the  wicked  thing  they  call  drink  didn't  have  possession  of  him," 
said  Xaviera,  with  sorrowful  heart.  "  And  remember  this  much, 
if  you  don't  pray  and  ask  God  to  help  him,  he  can't  be  good.  Ask 
God  to  make  your  father  good,  Danny." 


THE   MESSAGE.  181 

"Aren't  the  people  in  this  place  miserable !"  burst  forth 
Phyllis.  "  The  idea  of  not  doing  something  for  these  two  poor 
little  things.  They  should  be  sent  to  an  institution.  It  is  a 
shame — " 

Xaviera  looked  at  her  and  the  words  died  on  the  girl's  lips. 
She  had  been  here  eight  months  almost,  and  had  never  seen  the 
interior  of  the  children's  home  until  to-day.  She  felt  that  there 
was  a  contrast  between  practice  and  preaching. 

"  I'm  trying  to  find  a  home  for  them.  If  only  Mrs.  Thornton 
would  take  them  in,"  sighed  Xaviera.  "  She  is  old,  though,  and 
Danny  might  be  troublesome.  Things  were  going  along  nicely 
when  that  man  had  to  turn  up.  Elizabeth  is  really  so  sensible. 
Of  course  I  wouldn't  talk  of  him  in  a  depreciatory  way  before  them 
for  the  world — but  he  should  be  put  where  he  could  do  no  further 
harm.  Dr.  Fawcett  said  something  about  it  last  night.  He  is 
apt  to  kill  those  children  in  a  drunken  frenzy.  I  shall  never  forget 
last  evening — the  poor  little  thing  lying  on  the  road  and  that  great 
big  man  sodden  with  drink,  his  heavy  hand  raised  to  strike.  I've 
got  the  mark  of  his  blow  on  my  arm." 

«  Oh,  Xaviera!" 

•r^i. 

They  were  nearing  Muriel  Thornton's.  Phyllis  turned  her 
shocked  face  toward  her  companion. 

"  Yes,  I  barely  managed  to  save  her.  Here  is  Mrs.  Thornton's. 
I  shall  not  be  an  instant — and  you  had  better  remain  outside.  SHe 
is  old  and  alone,  and  might  not  care  to  see  a  stranger." 

"Do  not  mind  me,"  said  Phyllis. 

The  old  woman  turned  her  patient  face  as  Xaviera  entered. 

"  She  has  not  come  yet  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  brightly. 

"  !N"ot  yet."    Muriel  Thornton  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  heard  that  Dr.  Fawcett  was  called  to  attend  one  of 


182  THE   MESSAGE. 

the  company  who  was  ill.    Supposing  I  tell  him  of  it — perhaps  he 
can  persuade  her.    What  is  her  name — her  stage  name  ?  " 

"  I — don't  know/'  said  Mrs.  Thornton,  hesitatingly.  "  Per- 
haps she  has  a  different  name  now.  But  he  can  not  mistake  her. 
She  is  beautiful  and  fair — and  tall,  like  you,  Xaviera.  She  is  very 
beautiful — tell  Dr.  Fawcett  that.  You — you  will  not  go? 
Promise  me  you  will  not  go?  "  she  said,  anxiously. 

Xaviera  kissed  her. 

"  How  careful  you  are  of  me !  No,  I  do  not  intend  to  go,  if 
that  assurance  will  comfort  you.  And  now  there  is  some  one  wait- 
ing for  me,  or  I  would  stay  longer  with  you.  I'll  make  up  for  it 
to-morrow." 

She  was  thinking  even  then  that  Mrs.  Thornton  looked  much 
shaken.  Her  face  was  ghastly  in  the  lamplight.  Xaviera  felt 
that  unless  the  daughter  came,  and  came  soon,  the  mother's  break- 
ing heart  would  not  stand  the  strain. 

***** 

When  they  reached  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Browne's  they  found  a 
number  of  visitors,  including,  much  to  Xaviera's  delight,  Dr.  Faw- 
cett himself.  She  got  no  chance  to  talk  to  him  alone,  and  she  had 
not  been  in  the  room  more  than  ten  minutes  when,  to  her  astonish- 
ment and  dismay,  Allison  Frayer  was  announced.  He,  in  turn, 
could  scarcely  'believe  his  eyee  when  they  rested  on  Xaviera 
Pomeroy. 

"  I  called  to  find  out  how  Miss  Phyllis  felt  after  her  dissipa- 
tion of  two  nights  ago,"  he  said,  "  and  to  arrange  for  another 
pleasurable  evening.  I  see  that  you  possess  a  charm  which  I  can 
not  discover,  Mrs.  Browne,  hard  as  I  strive.  How  do  you  manage 
to  add  Miss  Pomeroy  to  your  charming  little  circle  ?  " 

Mrs.  Browne  flushed  with  pleasure. 


THE   MESSAGE.  138 

"  The  charm  lies  in  the  mere  fact  that  I  like  to  come/'  inter- 
jected Xaviera,  before  Aunt  Mary  could  speak. 

"The  inference  is  plain,"  he  said,  rather  stiffly,  for  all  ears 
were  intent  on  the  play  of  words.  "  Yet  the  Gables  is  not  such  an 
uninteresting  place  to  visit,  as  Miss  Phyllis  will  surely  testify." 
He  turned  to  Phyllis'  aunt  with  an  agreeable  smile.  "  This  time 
I  am  sure  not  even  Miss  Pomeroy  can  refuse  me.  Miss  Danby,  who 
possesses  a  rare  contralto  voice,  and  who  has  sung  in  many  well- 
known  theaters,  has  been  kind  enough  to  place  her  services  at  my 
disposal  for  to-morrow.  Surely  Miss  Pomeroy,  who  so  loves 
music,  and  who  is  so  discriminating  a  critic,  can  not  wish  to  let 
such  an  opportunity  slip?  Perhaps  I  might  even  ask,"  his  eyes 
were  on  the  girl's  averted  face  now :  "  I  might  even  ask  you  to 
favor  us — just  once —  I  have  a  splendid  violin — one  which  your 
brother  called  a  magnificent  instrument —  It  may  be  the  last 
request  I  shall  care  to  make  in  Segrovia.  I  return  to  England 
shortly." 

The  girl  scarcely  heard.  Her  face  was  cold;  her  eyes,  filled 
with  aversion,  met  Dr.  Fawcett's.  Something  in  his  expression 
interested  her.  What  message  was  he  trying  to  convey?  The 
current  of  her  thoughts  changed  suddenly.  Was  he  not  her  friend  ? 
She  knew,  looking  at  him,  that  he  wanted  her  to  accept  this  invita- 
tion. And  then  she  caught  Mr.  Frayer's  closing  words :  "  I  return 
to  England." 

She  had  not  thought  what  joy  such  an  announcement  would 
give  her. 

"  You — you  want  me  to  hear  Miss  Danby  ?  "  she  asked.  "  And 
you  said —  You  have  a  violin  ?  That  is  it  ?  " 

"  If  you  would  be  so  kind — " 

"  I  think  I  mentioned  that  I  never  intended  playing  in  public." 


184  THE   MESSAGE. 

"  In  public  ?  Miss  Pomeroy,  surely  such  a  little  home  gather- 
ing-" 

"  I  have  given  up  music  as  a  profession." 

"  You  never  professed  to  play  violin.  But  I  have  heard  you. 
And  before  I  leave  America  I  would  like  to  hear  Xaviera  Pomeroy 
once  more — just  once.  It  may  be  for  the  last  time." 

There  was  a  lurking  triumph  in  his  voice  that  she  could  not 
understand,  but  she  read,  as  plainly  as  if  he  had  finished  the  sen- 
tence :  "  It  may  be  for  the  last  time  I  shall  hear  you — as  Xaviera 
Pomeroy."  She  was  strangely  troubled. 

"  Well,  I  will  go,"  she  said,  almost  ungraciously,  and  as  if  to 
end  the  discussion.  "  I  will  go  to  hear  Miss  Danby  sing,  since 
you  are  so  kind.  But  to  play — well,  I  can  not  promise.  That  de- 
pends upon  my  mood." 

His  eyes  lighted  up.  Had  she  conferred  a  most  wonderful 
favor  there  could  have  been  no  greater  pleasure  depicted  on  his 
face.  Phyllis  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  now  you  will  see  fairyland ! "  she  cried  out  with  the 
rapture  of  a  child.  "  Eeal,  true  fairyland,  Xaviera." 

But  Xaviera  rose  and  turned  away,  much  annoyed  at  herself. 
Dr.  Fawcett,  the  next  moment,  stood  beside  her. 

"  See  how  I  trusted  you,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice.  "  You 
wish  me  to  go?  You,  who  yesterday  distrusted  me?  You  ask 
me  to  deliberately  put  myself  into  the  jaws  of  the  lion !  Why  ?  " 

"  I  am  proud  of  your  strength — and  if  I  distrust  anything  it 
is  endurance  of  the  pain  you  may  have  to  suffer,"  he  returned. 
And  then  he  added,  enigmatically :  "  You  may  save  a  soul  by  the 
going,  and  bring  joy  to  an  aching  heart.  Pamela  Danby  is  Muriel 
Thornton's  daughter." 

"You  know  that,  too?"    She  started  involuntarily.     "You 


THE   MESSAGE.  185 

know  everything.    Poor  Mrs.  Thornton !    I  meant  to  tell  you  to 
see  her — to  ask — " 

"I  learned  the  fact  to-day  by  merest  accident.  And  I  have 
eeen — asked — begged.  All  useless,"  he  said.  He  gazed  at  her 
with  troubled  eyes.  "  I  appreciate  Mrs.  Thornton's  sorrow,  while 
I  am  anxious  to  avoid  danger — yet  my  plans  may  fail,  and  I  be 
the  moans  of  thrusting  you  into  the  very  misery  I  am  striving  to 
keep  from  you.  I  want  Pamela  Danby  to  meet  you,  Xaviera 
Pomeroy.  To-morrow  is  your  only  opportunity.  You  will  see 
her  then,  face  to  face.  You  will  be  strong  for  your  own  sake  as 
well  as  hers  ?  " 

His  earnestness  compelled  her  to  respond  to  that  mood  of  his, 
despite  its  strangeness. 

"  And  you  will  be  there,  my  friend  ?  "  she  asked,  with  winning 
•oftness. 

"  I  will  be  there,  my  friend,"  he  answered. 

***** 

For  the  following  evening  she  put  aside  the  gloomy  garb  of 
black,  and  robed  herself  in  a  pretty  white  silk,  fashionable  and 
frivolous  enough  to  excite  even  Phyllis'  rapture.  As  usual  her 
only  ornament  was  the  diamond  cross  that  seemed  by  now  to  have 
become  part  of  her.  She  and  Phyllis  went  together,  Aunt  Mary 
acting  as  chaperon  for  both. 

Together,  then,  the  three  entered  the  long  drawing-room  of  the 
Gables,  and  Xaviera  caught  her  breath  involuntarily.  Artistic  of 
temperament,  with  a  love  for  all  that  was  beautiful,  she  had  not 
thought  that  the  things  of  the  world  could  still  allure  her.  She 
feasted  her  long-starved  eyes  on  the  luxury  that  had  been  hers  in 
that  circle  from  which  she  came,  and  which  she  had  tried  to  retain 
in  part  by  furnishing  her  own  room  as  she  had  always  had  it.  The 


188  THE   MESSAGE. 

lights,  the  flowers,  the  perfume,  the  music,  the  well-dressed, 
courteous  men  and  smiling  women  seeming  one  with  it  all — the 
rippling  conversation — the  laughter — 

Xaviera's  heart  rose  to  her  throat.  This  was  the  life  she  had 
left — this,  this !  For  what  ?  For  the  plain  four  walls  of  a  humble 
cottage,  for  daily  toil,  for  constant  care,  for  heartbreak,  for  the 
tongues  of  those  who  dared  revile  and  criticise.  This  was  what 
she  had  left;  and  this  was  what  was  offered  her.  Luxury  and 
ease  lying  at  her  feet,  and  honor  and  wealth ! 

Oh,  for  the  things  of  the  world,  the  beautiful  things  that  she 
might  secure  by  putting  forth  her  hand ! 

Of  all  the  temptations  that  Dr.  Fawcett  had  counted  upon, 
he,  with  his  man's  broader,  one  might  say,  cruder,  soul,  had  not 
reckoned  upon  this.  He  had  not  a  woman's  longing  after  the  re- 
finements and  delicacy  which,  once  used  to,  it  hurts  her  to  be  de- 
prived of. 

"  Stay  with  me,"  she  said  to  Phyllis,  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "  Stay 
with  me — sit  with  me.  The  room  is  so  bright  it  makes  my  head 
ache.  I  am  dizzy."  And  then  in  an  undertone:  "This  is  the 
test." 

And  they  sat  one  beside  the  other,  Phyllis  conversing  bril- 
liantly, calling  Xaviera's  attention  to  this  or  that,  and  Xaviera 
glad  of  the  ceaseless  chatter  that  gave  her  time  to  recover  herself. 
Slowly  but  surely  she  did  recover  herself.  Could  wealth  tempt 
her?  Wealth,  luxury — tempt  Xaviera  Pomeroy? 

The  man  who  would  have  given  her  all  this  stood  at  a  distance 
and  watched.  That  pale  face  told  nothing  of  the  conflict  in  her 
mind — those  lips  were  sternly  set,  and  the  delicate  hands  rested 
quietly  on  her  lap,  without  a  tremor.  The  admiration  in  his  eyes 
grew  greater  as  he  gazed  upon  her.  And  when  presently  Phyllis 


THE   MESSAGE.  137 

rose  in  answer  to  the  insistent  beckoning  of  her  aunt,  he,  who  had 
been  waiting  with  much  impatience  for  this,  advanced  instantly 
and  took  the  seat  beside  her. 

"  My  white  swan !  "  he  murmured. 

She  made  a  motion  as  though  to  spring  up — then,  suddenly 
recollecting  herself,  sank  back  languidly  again,  the  picture  of  self- 
possession. 

"  Please  do  not  draw  the  attention  of  the  others,"  she  said,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  Speak  to  me  as  you  would  to  any  stranger  who 
visits  your  house  for  the  first  time — or  I  shall  be  forced  to  make 
— a  very — early  departure." 

"  If  only  you  were  a  stranger  to  me,"  he  said.  "  But  memory 
is  too  keen.  I  can  not  forget  so  easily.  And  you — you  are  so  cold. 
If  I  thought,  for  one  instant,  that  you  loved  another,  that  you 
cared  for  any  one  else — 

"  No,  not  even  then  would  I  give  you  up,  not  even  then.  But 
to  see  these  hands,  so  lovely  and  so  beloved,  without  a  gem  upon 
them !  Yoii  remember  how  you  admired  the  pretty  things  ?  To 
see  the  sparkling,  gay  girl  I  knew,  so  icy-cold,  so  unfeeling,  and  so 
pitifully  alone !  You,  who  had  friends  by  legion,  suitors  by  the 
score !  It  maddens  me — your  very  friendlessness  appeals  to  me. 
Admit  my  manliness  in  that,  Xaviera." 

"  Oh,  I  admit  it,"  she  said,  carelessly.  "  I  admit  it — but  it 
is  uncalled-for.  Your  words  bring  up  old-time  vanities  which 
I — "  she  fingered  the  cross  upon  her  breast  and  smiled —  "  which 
I  am  glad  to  have  put  away  from  me.  It  was  not  to  have  your 
pity  that  I  came — but  to  see — fairyland!  ''  She  let  her  eyes 
roam  about  the  room  carelessly,  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other, 
and  then,  resting  her  chin  on  one  upturned  palm,  met  his  glance 
full.  "  My  fairyland  has  naught  that  glitters  so  sumptuously  a* 


138  THE   ME88AGS. 

yours.  And  yet — I  am  happy.  Happier  in  my  loneliness  than 
you  with  all  your  wealth." 

"  Oh,  yes/'  he  breathed,  quickly.  It  was  so  wonderful  that 
she  was  not  repellent,  that  she  looked  at  him  almost  kindly.  "  The 
wilderness  were  paradise  enow !  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Then  silence  and  coldness 
wrapped  her  as  in  a  veil  as  she  sat  beside  this  man  who  would 
have  given  every  hope  and  ambition  of  his  life  for  sake  of  her 
whom  once  he  had  forgotten.  And  into  the  way  that  led  beyond 
that  narrow  existence  of  hers  she  would  not  go.  Not  a  nerve  in  her 
body  quivered.  She  was  not  sorry  for  him.  If  he  felt  pain,  she 
thought — for  she  was  not  tender,  save  in  rare  cases — that  it  was 
the  judgment  of  a  righteous  God,  for  he  had  given  pain.  Not  to 
her  alone — that  much  she  could  forgive  him — but  to  her  who 
had  taken  her  place  beside  him  because  she  loved  him,  borne  his 
name,  was  the  mother  of  his  child — and  who  was  dead. 

"  Would  it  not  be  worth  while  to  any  woman  to  make  a  man 
feel  that  he  was  the  better  for  knowing — for  loving  her  ?  "  he  went 
on,  in  a  changed  voice. 

"  A  man,  whether  he  wins  a  woman  or  not,  is  always  the  better 
for  loving  her — if  he  is  the  right  sort  of  man,"  she  returned. 
"  But  you — are  not  the  right  sort  of  man." 

"  That  is  sarcasm." 

She  smiled. 

"  You  are  growing  dense  if  you  call  truth  sarcasm." 

"  And  that  is  contempt." 

"  Always,"  she  said,  with  that  amused  curve  to  her  lips.  "  Rest 
assured  that  if  you  have  nothing  else  you  have  my  unbounded  con- 
tempt. You  try  to  tell  me  of  your  devotion,  not  knowing  that 
every  word  you  say  condemns  you.  Does  it  place  you  higher  in 


THE   MESSAGE.  189 


my  esteem  when  you  declare  that  you  neglected  your  wife  and 
because  you  could  not  efface  my  image  from  your  heart  ?  "  She 
laughed.  "  Bather  does  it  lower  you.  Why  can  not  men  —  some 
men  —  believe  that  women  know  their  own  minds  ?  " 

A  queenly  figure  standing  in  the  doorway  arrested  the  worf  s 
—  a  woman  tall  and  graceful  and  superbly  gowned,  whose  mag- 
netic eye  swept  the  guests  assembled  there  with  the  proud  col 
fidence  of  one  who  knows  her  ground  and  is  sure  of  her  position 
Xaviera's  lips  parted,  her  heart  seemed  to  suddenly  stop  beating 
Who  was  this,  who  was  this?  She  leaned  forward,  and  th'i 
sparkling  cross  upon  her  breast  caught  the  light  and  attracted  the 
stranger's  attention.  Her  eyes  met  those  of  the  girl  —  looked, 
lingered,  flashed.  It  was  over  in  a  second.  Xaviera  turned  her 
head  away,  for  Mr.  Waverly,  advancing,  had  spoken  to  the  beau- 
tiful woman,  and  she  smiled.  The  evil  triumph  fihe  had  read  in 
Prayer's  face  the  night  before  was  on  it  now. 

"  Do  not  let  the  entrance  of  Miss  Danby  —  " 

Another  voice  interrupted  this  sentence.     Xaviera  had  not 
heard  Dr.  Fawcett  approach,  but  now  he  stood  before  her: 

"  Miss  Pomeroy,  you  mean  to  play  this  evening  ?  "  he  asked. 

A  flush  of  pleasure  greeted  the  words.     Xaviera  looked  up 
eagerly. 

"  Just  a  moment,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Frayer.    "  If  you  please. 
Miss  Xaviera  is  answering  an  important  question  —  " 

"  A  thousand  pardons  !  "  said  the  physician,  hastily. 

"  I  beg  of  you  !  "  said  Xaviera,  protestingly.    "  I  can  not  r.e- 
member  that  Mr.  Frayer  has  asked  me  any  question  —  " 

"It  is  a  long-standing  one,"  said  Frayer,  in  a  white  heat  of 
rage. 

"Oh,  the  old  one?"    Dr.  Fawcett  would  not  like  to 


140  THE   MESSAGE. 

Xaviera  speak  to  him  in  that  drawling,  insolent  tone.  He  was 
sorry  for  Frayer.  "  I  wish —  You  annoy  me !  " 

"  I  may  take  measures — " 

"Life  is  short  at  best — and  I  have  lived  a  long,  long  time," 
said  Xaviera  Pomeroy,  lifting  her  proud  head.  "  I  am  not  afraid." 

She  turned  then  and  walked  across  the  floor  beside  Dr.  Fawcett. 

"  A  battle  royal,"  she  declared,  almost  gaily.  "  Was  that — is 
that — beautiful  woman  Muriel  Thornton's  daughter?" 

"  What  is  your  impression  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Fawcett. 

"  I  do  not  like  her/'  said  Xaviera.  "  She  is  the  sort  of  woman 
I  would  be — if  Frank  had  not  saved  me  from  it.  She  is  that  most 
pitiable  of  creatures — a  woman  without  a  conscience." 

A  shiver  went  through  his  frame. 

"What  makes  you  say  a  thing  like  that?"  he  said,  angrily. 
"  You  could  never  be  like  her,  Xaviera,  never.  And  her  conscience 
still  exists.  Conscience  is  a  gift  one  always  possesses.  Hers  is 
asleep.  I  want  you  to  wake  it." 

"  You  want  me  to  ask  her  to  come  to  see  her  mother  ?  The 
contrast  is  so  terrible,  Dr.  Fawcett.  That  old  woman,  so  patient, 
so  humble.  And  this !  It  seems  impossible." 

"  Yet  it  is  not  impossible,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett.  "  I  would  not 
want  you  even  to  meet  her — only  that  I  know  you  must  become 
acquainted.  Nor  do  I  want  you  to  say  one  word  about  Mrs. 
Thornton—" 

"But — "  began  Xaviera,  in  amazement. 

« I  can  rely  on  your  music.  She  knows  where  her  mother  is — 
she  knows  what  that  mother's  anxiety  is.  What  could  words  say 
to  her?  Nothing.  But  there  is  a  way,  Xaviera.  What  message 
would  you  convey  to  a  soul  asleep  in  sin  ?  Your  eye  kindles.  Only 
you  can  touch  that  woman's  heart  by  your  playing — your  playing, 


THE  MESSAGE.  141 

and  no  one  else's !  You  need  not  be  observed — Frayer  has  ar- 
ranged it  so  that  the  violin  accompaniment  is  to  be  heard  from 
behind  that  screen — " 

"  Since  you  wish  it — " 

They  were  at  the  end  of  the  room.  Prayer,  with  Pamela 
Danby  at  his  side,  barred  their  way. 

"  Miss  Danby,  Miss  Pomeroy,  Dr.  Fawcett,"  he  said  briefly. 

He  had  recovered  his  composure. 

"You  are  the  Miss  Pomeroy?  Your  brother  was  the  violin- 
ist ?  "  asked  Miss  Danby. 

"  Yes,"  said  Xaviera.  She  had  no  words  for  this  woman.  She 
was  afraid  of  her. 

"  I  feel  myself  flattered,"  said  Miss  Danby.  "  And  you  are  to 
play  this  evening,  I  believe  ?  It  is  almost  time,  Mr.  Frayer." 

"  When  you  are  ready,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  bow. 

"Have  it  over  with,"  she  replied,  carelessly.  And  then  she 
laughed.  "  I  understand  that  Miss  Pomeroy — the  Miss  Pomeioy 
— shrinks  from  public  gaze  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer  even  to  this.  She  took  her  place,  turning 
over  the  sheets  of  music  carelessly  in  her  fingers.  Phyllis  came 
flying  up,  and  Xaviera  stepped  behind  the  screen,  her  limbs 
trembling. 

"  Those  eyes,  those  eyes !  "  she  said.  "  Those  eyes  of  hers ! 
They  unnerve  me.  Where,  where,  where  have  I  seen  those  eyes 
and  heard  that  laugh  before  ?  " 

Dr.  Fawcett  drew  the  violin  from  its  case,  and  placed  it  in 
her  hands.  She  held  it,  almost  unconsciously. 

"  Xaviera  Pomeroy,  where  is  your  will  ?  "  she  asked  herself, 
proudly.  She  raised  her  head,  meeting  that  earnest,  tender  gaze 
bent  upon  her. 


142  THE   MESSAGE. 

"  I  can  not,"  she  said,  her  lips  moving,  piteously.    "  I  can  not." 

"  Show  me — show  me  at  least,  that  you  can  conquer  this  last 
obstacle.  Xaviera,  it  is  cruel,  but  conquer  it.  For  the  sake  of  a 
woman's  sleeping  soul— of  a  mother's  aching  heart — " 

Phyllis  looked  from  his  face  to  her  friend's  in  dumb  aston- 
ishment. 

"  My  hands  are  nerveless — my  will  is  gone/'  she  said. 

There  was  an  impatient  buzzing.  Phyllis  glanced  out  from  be- 
hind the  screen.  Miss  Dauby,  frowning  impatiently,  stood  tapping 
her  foot,  waiting  for  the  introductory  bars. 

"  She  is  waiting.  Hurry,  hurry,  Xaviera.  Every  one  is  looking 
toward  us.  Play,  Xaviera." 

Dr.  Fawcett  took  the  bow  and  clasped  her  fingers  about  it. 

"  You  know  the  piece — the  '  Swan  Song ' — and  after  that," 
his  voice  grew  suddenly  hushed  and  solemn — "after  that  'The 
Message ! J " 

" ( The  Message ! ' " 

Xaviera  fell  back,  her  throat  working. 

" '  The  Message '  ?  What  do  you  know  about '  The  Message '  ? 
Oh ! "  she  cried  out,  in  a  fit  of  grief  and  anger,  "  I  will  not  play ! 
What  friend  of  mine  do  you  pretend  to  be  that  you  would  have 
me  fight  against  my  tenderest  feelings  ?  For  what  ?  The  amuse- 
ment of  others  ?  I  will  not  play ! " 

She  raised  the  violin  in  her  shaking  hands  as  if  to  cast  it  from 
her.  Dr.  Fawcett  caught  it  quickly,  and  grasping  the  bow,  drew  it 
across  the  strings.  The  buzzing  ceased.  Xaviera  threw  herself 
into  a  chair,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  He  knew  the 
song  by  heart,  and  he  played  it  well.  Through  to  the  very  end 
he  played  it,  with  the  obligate  between  the  stanzas.  The  applause 
for  the  beautiful  song  subsided,  but  the  music  did  not  cease.  Like 


THE   MESSAGE.  148 

the  rushing  of  a  brook  it  poured  forth  a  rain  of  melody,  and  they 
listened.  Childish  weeping,  joyous  laughter,  a  little  ripple  like 
the  faint  thread  of  a  plaintive  human  voice  over  all.  A  touching, 
beautiful  melody,  then — rising  loud  and  clear  as  if  in  victory, 
but  ever,  ever  that  one  low  note  of  pain  that  no  clash  of  triumph 
could  subdue  until  the  insistence  died  away  altogether,  and  only 
the  sadness  was  left. 

His  face  had  taken  on  a  look  of  rapture,  but  Xaviera  sat 
numb  before  him,  her  startled  eyes  upon  him.  And  when  he  fin- 
ished he  turned  to  meet  that  glance.  The  applause  for  what  the 
guests  considered  Xaviera  Pomeroy's  exquisite  playing  rose  and 
fell.  Neither  heard  it. 

"  You  knew  him,  then/'  said  the  girl,  in  an  awestruck  voice. 
"  You  knew  my  brother !  Oh,  it  was  cruel  not  to  have  told  me. 
You  knew  him  ?  " 

"  He  was  my  teacher  for  a  little  while — before  I  came  to  Se- 
grovia,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett,  simply.  "Though  of  one  age  with 
me,  he  was  my  teacher." 

She  put  her  head  down  on  the  table  again.  Her  whole  form 
was  shaking. 

"  You  knew  my  brother,"  she  repeated,  over  and  over.  "  You 
knew  him,  knew  him,  knew  him ! "  And  then :  "  I  wish  you  had 
told  me,  prepared  me.  It  was  not  right  to  take  me  by  surprise." 
A  long  sigh  parted  her  lips.  "  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  tell  me. 
You  have  hurt  me  bitterly," 


144  NEW  PLANS. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

NEW  PLANS. 

"  IT  is  impossible/'  said  Mr.  Waverly,  in  a  surprised  voice. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  said  Frayer.  "  But  you  shall  see  what  you 
shall  see.  I  am  not  speaking  from  hearsay,  but  from  knowledge. 
I'll  go  over  to-morrow  and  tell  you  the  whole  story." 

"  If  it  is  true/'  said  Waverly,  "  the  girl  knows  nothing." 

"  Nothing  as  yet.    It  is  but  right  she  should." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Waverly,  in  a  warm  tone.  "  Miss  Pomeroy 
has  not  been  over-friendly  toward  me,  but  Constance  tells  me 
many  things  that  have  prepossessed  me  in  her  favor.  I  believe  in 
her,  Frayer — I  do,  honestly.  She  is  trying  to  get  away  from 
people  in  general.  Let  her  alone.  Such  a  story  as  that  can  do 
no  good  and  may  perhaps  spoil  her  life  here." 

"  Why  should  we  care  ? "  asked  Frayer,  for  the  sting  of 
Xaviera's  last  words  burned  within  him.  "And  Dr.  Fawcett? 
Will  it  not  mean  much  to  our  friend,  the  doctor  ?  " 

For  Dr.  Fawcett  hovered  about  Xaviera  with  insistent  atten- 
tion the  rest  of  that  evening.  He  and  Phyllis  strove  to  be  with 
her  always,  for  the  music  had  unnerved  her  more  than  even  she 
would  have  liked  to  confess.  Dr.  Fawcetf s  face  betrayed  great 
disappointment — and  his  glance  wandered  more  than  once  to  the 
laughing  countenance  of  Pamela  Danby,  who,  seated  in  the  center 
of  the  room,  held  court  of  her  own.  He  was  glad  that  Xaviera 
felt  distrait  and  nervous — glad  of  it.  She  could  not  be  drawn 


NEW   PLANS.  145 

into  the  proximity  of  that  woman,  who,  as  if  by  accident,  let  her 
eyes  rest  on  the  girl  with  more  than  interest  in  their  depths — a 
scrutiny,  a  question,  rather. 

Once  the  physician  intercepted  this  glance — and  a  daring  hope 
rose  in  his  mind.  His  message  to  her  might  not  have  failed  after 
all  if  she  thought  Xaviera  Pomeroy  had  played  it.  Surely  she 
would  not  betray  herself  before  these  people?  His  fears  made  a 
coward  of  him.  He  desired  to  reach  that  calloused  heart,  but  he 
desired  above  all  others  to  guard  the  girl  whom  he  had  grown  to 
esteem  so  highly.  He  had  insisted  that  neither  she  nor  Phyllis 
should  mention  who  the  musician  had  been,  and  both  promised  to 
evade  the  question.  The  eccentric  Aunt  Mary's  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears  as  she  held  Xaviera's  hands  and  looked  searchingly 
into  her  face. 

"It  seemed  to  me  as  if  it  were  a  message  to  the  dead,"  she 
murmured.  "  Xaviera,  what  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  what  it  meant  to  you,"  said  Xaviera,  gently,  as  she 
sat  down  beside  her.  "  That  was  my  brother  Frank's  very  own — 
the  one  thing  out  of  many  that  I  loved  the  best.  It  is  so  sad,  so 
sad —  I  used  to  complain  of  its  sad  ending.  '  Some  day  I  will 
finish  it,  Xaviera/  he  would  say.  '  Some  day  I  will  finish  it  tri- 
umphantly/ " 

She  could  not  guard  herself  any  more  to-night — her  pride  was 
gone,  and  her  reserve,  and  her  coldness.  Her  lips  were  trembling 
and  her  fingers  fluttered  nervously  in  Aunt  Mary's  clasp. 

"  I  realize  your  loss — now,"  said  Aunt  Mary.  "  I  am  a  hard- 
hearted, toughened  creature,  Xaviera.  There  is  nothing  can 
touch  me — I  am  selfish  and  egotistic.  But  when  I  heard  that — 
Girl,  I  have  missed  many  things  out  of  m;;  life.  I  shall  miss  them 
no  longer.  Did  you  not  hear  the  little  children  singing — feel  the 


146  NEW  PLANB. 

tenderness  of  boy  and  girl  love — and  then  the  premonition  of 
separation?  The  cry  of  dissent,  rising  supremely,  loudly,  vic- 
toriously over  all — giving  way  at  the  last  to  the  one  insistent 
message :  '  Return,  return,  return ! ' ; 

Xaviera  looked  at  the  woman's  sharp,  thin  features,  and  won- 
dered. She  became  conscious  of  a  great  humility — a  greater  com- 
punction. How  lightly  she  had  judged  her — how  lightly  passed 
her  by !  And  yet  under  this  unlovely  exterior  there  was  an  artist's 
soul! 

"And  I  shall  return,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  suddenly.  "You 
know  what  I  mean,  Xaviera?  I  have  wandered  into  paths  far 
from  the  true  refuge.  The  other  night  when  you  came  to  me 
through  the  storm  you  brought  my  perplexed  soul  relief.  I  felt  at 
peace  with  myself — at  rest.  I  shall  return,  Xaviera,  for,  after 
all,  as  you  say,  it  will  be  but  a  returning." 

Xaviera  understood  then.  It  was  as  well.  If  Frank's  music 
could  say  such  things  to  this  woman,  surely  that  other  woman 
could  not  control  the  longings  of  her  heart !  Her  troubled  gaze 
sought  the  beautiful  face — the  beautiful  eyes  were  looking  at  her 
without  a  single  expression  save  that  of  laughter  in  them.  A  sigh 
passed  Xaviera's  lips.  Oh,  the  poor,  patient  soul,  waiting,  long- 
ing, praying— 

u  Mrs.  Browne  says  that  the  violin  music  was  a  message,"  she 
said,  raising  that  troubled  gaze  to  Dr.  Fawcett's  face.  "  A  mes- 
sage," she  repeated,  dreamily. 

"  Ah !  "  he  said,  sadly.  "  It  was  a  message.  But  the  hand 
that  evoked  it  must  have  lost  its  cunning.  She  knows  it  as  well 
as  you  or  I — " 

"She?    MissDanby?    Has  heard— " 

"You  forget.     Frank  Pomeroy — there,  I  did  not  mean  to 


NEW   PLANS.  147 

wound  you  by  mentioning  that  name.  She  must  have  heard  that 
played  by  him,  since  she  knows  you  both.  Were  there  no  memories 
to  be  aroused,  no  long-silent  chords  of  affection — " 

He  paused  and  bit  his  lip,  for  Mr.  Waverly,  leaning  over  Pam- 
ela Danby's  shoulder,  said  something  to  her  to  which  she  nodded 
assent,  smilingly.  There  was  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  and 
then  as  if  with  one  accord  all  turned  to  look  at  Xaviera  in  amaze- 
ment. 

Something  like  despair — despair  akin  to  rage — mounted  to  Dr. 
Fawcett's  brain.  He  touched  Xaviera's  arm. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  peremptorily.  "  Mrs.  Browne  is  ready  to 
leave,  and  I  know  you  do  not  care  to  stay  much  longer.  Come, 
Xaviera.  Say  good-night  to  them — now,  now." 

His  voice  seemed  choked  with  excitement.  Frowning  a  little 
at  his  impatience,  Xaviera  turned  to  him.  The  group  at  the 
ginger's  chair  had  recovered  from  their  momentary  surprise,  and 
were  discussing  something  eagerly.  And,  then,  acting  on  im- 
pulse, Xaviera  did  the  very  thing  Dr.  Fawcett  did  not  want  her 
to  do.  Conquering  her  aversion,  she  paused.  The  touch  of  the 
physician's  fingers  on  her  arm  told  her  that  he  had  not  counted 
on  this — but  once  done  he  stood,  waiting. 

"  I  am  going  home,"  she  said,  with  a  gentle  smile.  "  And  I 
would  like  to  ask  you  something  before  I  go.  There  is  an  old 
lady  in  the  village — a  Mrs.  Thornton — whom  I  am  very  much 
interested  in.  She  would  like  to  hear  one  song  from  your  lips 
before  you  leave  us.  Will  you  come  with  me  to  her  to-morrow? 
Only  for  a  short  half  hour?  We  artists,"  she  spoke  winningly, 
"  should  be  lavish  to  the  poor  and  the  needy  of  those  gifts  the 
good  God  has  been  kind  enough  to  bestow  on  us." 

The  woman's  lips  parted— words  trembled  on  tnem.     And 


148  NEW  PLANS. 

Xaviera,  with  the  sword  above  her  pf  oud  dark  head,  stood  gazing  at 
her  with  pleading  face.  Pamela  Danby  laughed. 

"  Foolish  girl ! "  she  said.  "  I  had  almost  said  unwise 
daughter !  You  don't  know  how  ancient  you  make  me  feel."  And 
again  she  laughed,  and  Dr.  Fawcett  saw  around  him  the  swift 
exchange  of  glances.  "  If  I  listened  to  such  requests  as  that  I 
should  be  singing  on  the  street-corners  now  for  my  daily  bread. 
No.  I  have  no  time  for  poor  old  women — I  leave  that  to  the 
young  and  innocent.  The  old  are  nearing  the  grave ;  what  pleasure 
can  they  take  in  song  or  music  ?  " 

Xaviera's  glance  rested  on  her,  not  coldly,  but  with  a  strange 
light  in  its  depths.  The  cold  heartlessness  of  the  speech  wounded 
her  to  the  core.  She  bent  her  head  silently,  and  turned  away. 
The  mocking  smile,  the  covert  sneer,  did  not  annoy  her.  She  felt, 
rather,  all  the  desolation  of  that  lonely  heart — the  heart  that  had 
prayed  for  but  one  thing  during  all  these  years. 

Dr.  Fawcett  himself  brought  the  soft  wrap  that  she  wore  and 
put  it  close  about  her  shoulders.  He  helped  her  into  the  carriage, 
he  took  a  seat  beside  her.  Deep  thankfulness,  great  joy  were  shin- 
ing from  his  face.  There  had  been  a  reprieve.  Dared  he  hope 
that  God  would  grant  a  lifelong  one?  The  tenderness — nay,  it 
was  more  than  tenderness — it  was  the  protecting  affection  toward 
a  dear  one,  rather — that  marked  the  man's  movements,  was  not 
lost  on  Phyllis.  She  no  longer  saw  him  in  the  abstract — she  saw 
him  as  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood.  He  loved  Xaviera,  then. 
The  girl's  heart  did  not  feel  a  pang — rather  she  rejoiced  at  it. 
After  all,  he  had  been  but  a  possibility — and  what  was  a  possibility 
to  Phyllis  Gordon?  What  a  wonderful  marriage  that  would  be — his 
and  Xaviera's !  With  the  flights  of  fancy  to  which  she  was  prone, 
she  began  at  once  to  build  castles  in  the  air  that  lasted  long  after 


NEW   PLANS.  149 

she  had  bidden  both  the  occupants  of  those  castles  good-night. 
And  perhaps  a  little  vein  of  triumph,  so  contrary  is  the  mind  of 
woman,  mingled  with  her  thoughts :  she  was  glad  Aunt  Mary  had 
been  mistaken ! 

She  did  not  know — not  one  of  them  knew — that  Xaviera  had 
to  face  another  ordeal,  late  as  it  was.  For  when  she  entered  the 
hall  she  saw  a  light  burning  in  the  apartment  that  was  work- 
room as  well  as  parlor.  This  was  unusual.  She  pushed  the  door 
open,  fearing  that  something  might  have  happened  during  her 
absence — that  one  of  her  aunts  might  be  ill.  Magdalen  Pomeroy 
was  standing  at  the  window  and  turned  a  severe  and  wrinkled 
countenance  toward  her. 

"  What  is  it  ?    Aunt  Winifred  is—" 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you,"  said  the  woman,  in  a  cold 
voice.  "  I  wanted  to  hear  the  truth  from  your  own  lips,  girl. 
Come  in,  come  in." 

Wondering  very  much,  Xaviera  obeyed.  Aunt  Magdalen,  a 
tall,  forbidding  figure,  faced  her. 

"  Is  it  true — you  see,  I  am  giving  you  the  benefit  of  the  doubt, 
because  you  are  my  niece — is  it  true  that  when  you  left  this  house 
to-night  you  went  to  sing  with  a  creature  called  Danby  at  the 
Gables?" 

"  A  creature  called  Danby ! "  echoed  Xaviera,  in  blank  aston- 
ishment. "  I  went  to  hear  Miss  Danby  sing,  ostensibly — but  that 
was  not  the  only  reason.  I  wish  you  would  let  me  tell  you  all, 
everything,  Aunt  Magdalen.  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you — just 
once — in  confidence.  Will  you  not  permit  me — " 

She  put  out  her  hand,  almost  imploringly.  Magdalen  Pomeroy 
waved  it  aside,  and  her  forbidding  face  grew  darker,  as  if  the 
emotion  that  burned  within  her  breast  would  not  be  contained. 


150  NEW  PLANS. 

"  She — that  woman — was  in  your  society.  You  were  with  her 
— spoke  to  her — perhaps  even  invited  her  to  call  on  you — " 

"  Scarcely  that,"  said  Xaviera.  "  Scarcely  that.  But  I  cer- 
tainly spoke  to  her.  I  could  not  avoid  it.  If  you  would  listen — " 

The  eyes  under  the  heavy  thatched  brows  burned  with  a  red 
flame. 

"  It  was  not  enough  that  you  should  seek  daily  the  house  of 
my  only  and  my  bitterest  enemy,  Muriel  Thornton,  whom  I  hate 
and  who  hates  me.  No,  that  was  not  enough!  I  might  have 
known  you  were  my  brother's  child !  But  you  shall  never  wring 
my  heart,  you  shall  not  bring  further  shame  upon  me !  " 

Xaviera  stood  mutely  before  her — awed  by  the  concentrated 
passion  in  the  old  voice. 

"  It  shall  be  the  last  time,"  went  on  Magdalen  Pomeroy,  from 
between  clenched  teeth.  "To-morrow  you  leave  this  house  for- 
ever— forever.  I  refuse  to  shelter  you  another  day.  And  I  never 
want  to  look  upon  your  face  again." 

This  time  Xaviera's  pride  asserted  itself.  She  bowed  her  head 
and  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  You  knew  what  she  was  before  you  went  there — the  vilest 
woman,  the  worst — " 

"  Hush !  "  said  Xaviera,  with  her  hand  upon  the  knob.  "  Hush, 
No  matter  what  she  is,  or  where  she  came  from,  or  what  her  life 
has  been,  or  what  her  life  will  be,  one  loving  heart  still  beats  for 
her  alone,  one  aching  heart  still  longs  for  her  with  a  tender  affec- 
tion that  only  a  mother  can  feel.  You  know  that  Mrs.  Thornton 
is  her  mother.  You  say  that  Mrs.  Thornton  is  your  enemy — but 
Mrs.  Thornton  says  she  loves  you.  You  have  an  enemy,  Aunt 
Magdalen — an  enemy  that  you  will  carry  with  you  to  the  grave, 
and  the  way  that  leads  beyond — your  own  hard  heart.  Your  cruel, 


NEW  PLANS.  181 

cruel,  wicked,  wicked  heart.  Are  you  not  a  woman?  And  be- 
cause your  life  has  been  set  in  bounds  can  you  not  sympathize 
with  those  beyond  your  narrow  pale?  Good-night,  Aunt  Mag- 
dalen. God  give  you  pleasant  dreams." 

***** 

Aunt  Winifred  was  in  her  room  at  day-dawn  the  next  morn- 
ing, her  kind  old  face  wrinkled  and  puckered. 

"What  is  this  Magdalen  is  saying?"  she  whispered,  fear- 
fully. "What  in  the  world  has  happened?  And  when?  Last 
night?  This  morning?  And  how  did  she  come  to — " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Xaviera.  "  She  accused  me  of  visiting 
Muriel  Thornton — of  going  to  the  Gables  to  sing  with  Miss 
Danby.  Why  she  should  consider  either  so  dreadful —  But  Aunt 
Magdalen  never  wanted  me — she  has  never  liked  me.  And  now  it 
is  too  late.  I  shall  never  try  to  make  her  like  me." 

Aunt  Winifred's  lips  trembled. 

"  Child,  she  is  queer — I  often  think  her  brain  wanders.  She 
has  a  grievance  against  Muriel  Thornton.  Surely  Muriel  told 
you?  It  has  been  smoldering  many  years.  How  in  the  world 
did  you  get  to  know  her,  to  visit  her  ?  Any  one  else  in  the  town 
but  Muriel  Thornton.  And  yet  there  is  no  one  else  you  seem  to 
care  for  except  the  people  on  the  hill,  who  are  not  our  kind, 
Xaviera.  You  have  kept  yourself  away  from  us " — she  was 
wringing  her  hands.  "  And  Muriel  Thornton — " 

"  Ah,  Aunt  Winifred !  "  said  Xaviera,  slowly.  She  felt  sorry 
at  sight  of  her  aunt's  genuine  distress.  "If  you  but  knew  the 
poor,  lonely,  humble  heart  of  Muriel  Thornton !  It  would  be  a 
crime  to  think  that  she  even  wished  harm  to  a  human  being — " 

"Magdalen  will  ask  you  to  stay  again,"  ventured  Winifred, 
"  if  you  would  promise  not  to  visit  Muriel — " 


158  NEW  PLANS. 

"I  shall  promise  no  such  thing,"  said  Xaviera,  decidedly. 
"  And  it  is  unfair  to  ask  it  or  to  expect  it.  She  likes  me,  and  if 
word  of  mine  can  cheer  her  it  shall  be  said  as  often  as  I  please  to 
say  it  and  she  pleases  to  hear — " 

"  But  Magdalen  is  your  aunt — your  father's  sister — " 

"  Has  she  been  so  kind  to  me  that  I  should  consider  her  now 
where  my  own  feelings  are  so  deeply  concerned  ?  "  asked  Xaviera. 
"No,  no,  Aunt  Winifred.  I  have  battled  again  this  prejudice 
long  enough — " 

"  You  will  leave  Segrovia  ?  " 

Xaviera  drew  herself  to  her  full  height,  and  her  eyes  kindled. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  shall  not  leave  Segrovia.  Not  until  my 
will  is  broken,  not  until  there  is  no  spark  of  pride  left  in  me,  not 
until  I  confess  failure.  When  do  you  think  that  will  happen,  Aunt 
Winifred  ?  "  She  looked  at  her  almost  defiantly. 

"  But  you  will  leave  us  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Togo— where?" 

"  I  do  not  know — yet.    I  hare  not  made  up  my  mind." 

"  At  least,  Xaviera,  you  will  not  go  to-day  ?  " 

Xaviera  was  silent.  Her  aunt  put  a  trembling  hand  on  her 
arm,  the  tears  streaming  down  her  face. 

"  Am  I  nothing — am  I  no  one  ?  "  she  pleaded.  "  Because  Mag- 
dalen, with  her  bitterness —  Alas,  that  is  where  you  get  your  will, 
Xaviera!  Beware  lest  that  strength  of  yours  turns  to  your  own 
condemnation.  You  go  about,  striving  to  do  good.  Many  prais* 
you — your  talents  and  your  tact.  Have  you  forgotten  the  good 
you  may  do  here?  Never,  by  word,  or  look,  or  action,  have  you 
tried  to  win  Magdalen's  favor — " 

"  That  is  not  true,"  said  Xaviera.    "  Do  not  accuse  me  wrong- 


NEW   PLANS.  103 

fully.  Aunt  Magdalen  would  not  give  me  the  chance  to  do  other 
than  exchange  the  merest  formalities.  Business  conversation — no 
more.  Last  night,  when  I  would  have  explained,  she  put  me  aside 
as  if  I  were  a  nonentity.  She  avoided  me  at  home  and  abroad. 
I  have>ven  seen  her  turn  into  a  side  street  that  she  might  not 
meet  me,  and  often  she  has  passed  me  without  acknowledging  my 
greeting.  You  can  not  accuse  me  there.  For  if  she  is  proud  and 
reserved,  I,  too,  have  my  pride.  I  will  not  force  myself  upon 
those  who  do  not  care  for  me." 

"  But  I  have  done  my  best/' 

"  Yes,  dear  aunt,  you  have  done  your  best." 

"  For  my  sake,  then,,  you  will  stay  with  us  ?  Just  a  little  while 
longer,  dear."  She  clung  to  her  arm,  beseechingly.  "  Give  me 
time  to  get  used  to  the  idea>  I  am  old,  too,  as  well  as  Magdalen 
or  Muriel,  and  I  love  you.  Do  not  leave  me,  Xaviera." 

Much  moved,  Xaviera  put  her  arms  about  her. 

"  Aunt  Winifred,  I  can  not  stay — I  mean  to — " 

"You  promised — you  said  you  would  not  leave  me — "  said 
Aunt  Winifred.  She  was  crying.^ 

"  Give  me  time,"  whispered  Xaviera.  "  Let  me  think.  At 
any  rate — "  she  choked  back  the  feeling  of  protest  that  rose  within 
her — "  at  any  rate  I-^will  not  go  to-day." 

She  had  indeed  conquered  herself,  but  the  triumph  tasted 
bitter.  Aunt  Winifred  embraced  her  tenderly,  and  then  left  her. 

Her  heart  was  sore.  The  events  of  the  previous  evening,  and 
its  culmination,  had  left  her  in  a  particularly  despondent  mood. 
She  did  not  understand.  She  could  grasp  nothing  clearly,  save 
one  thing — and  that  one  the  face  of  the  beautiful  woman  with  the 
mocking  eyes — "  the  vile  woman,"  Aunt  Magdalen  had  called  her. 
"  The  vile  woman,"  who  was  the  daughter  of  that  patient  creature 


164  NEW  PLANS. 

who  besieged  heaven  with  her  prayers,  as  St.  Monica  had  done  for 
St.  Augustine.  Who  daily  besought  grace  for  the  child  who  had 
been  an  innocent  little  baby  prattling  at  her  knee.  "  The  vile 
woman — " 

"  I  will  not  believe  it,"  said  Xaviera,  aloud.  "  It  is  not  true. 
Careless  she  may  be — yes,  cruelly  heartless,  but  she  is  not  vile." 

A  great  longing  for  Mrs.  Thornton  took  possession  of  her. 
She  felt  that  she  must  go  to  her,  pour  out  her  heart  to  her,  ask 
her  advice — for  only  on  that  one  bosom  could  she  find  relief  from 
the  dreadful  oppression  weighing  her  to  the  earth.  But  the  old 
lady  had  been  unable  to  rise  that  day,  and  she  called  out  a  ques- 
tion feebly  as  she  saw  that  some  one  had  entered  the  outer  room, 
•nulling  aside  the  curtains  to  let  in  the  sunlight. 

"You  are  ill/'  said  Xaviera.  "You  are  ill,  and  I  did  not 
know  it,  dear  old  mother?  " 

"  God  bless  you,"  said  Muriel  Thornton.  And  then  she  added 
wearily :  "  Hope  deferred  maketh  the  heart  sick." 

Xaviera  understood.  She  had  come  to  pour  out  her  own  sor- 
rows, and  now  she  must  assume  the  role  of  consoler. 

"  Hasn't  any  one  been  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Dr.  Fawcett.  He  said  he  would  go  in  to  tell  you  that  I  was 
not  well.  Is  that  the  reason  you  came  to  me  so  early  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  him,"  said  Xaviera. 

"  He  left  me  medicine.  He  felt  very  bad  over  something,  and 
talked  to  me  a  long  while.  He  can  not  keep  from  me  the  fact  that 
he  has  seen  my  daughter — and  that  she  will  not  come." 

"The  vile  woman!"  rang  through  Xaviera's  head  again,  in 
Aunt  Magdalen's  harsh  tones.  "  The  vile  woman !  "  She  moved 
restlessly.  "  Oh,  no,"  she  thought,  "  she  can  not  be  wholly  vile — 
with  such  a  mother." 


NEW  PLANS.  155 

"  I,  too,  have  seen  her,"  she  began,  painfully.  "  How  beautiful 
•he  is!"  . 

"  Ah,  me !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Thornton. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  her." 

"  Spoken  to  her !  You ! "  And  then  surprise  gave  way  to  the 
paramount  feeling :  "  I  know  she  will  not  come — I  know  she  will 
not  come ! " 

She  was  silent,  folding  her  hands  in  prayer  a  moment. 

"  You  are  keeping  something  from  me,"  she  said,  then.  "  Tell 
me  what  is  it — let  me  see  my  girl  through  your  eyes." 

Xaviera  shuddered.  What!  Paint  that  soulless  creature  as 
she  saw  her  to  this  poor  mother  ?  "  No,"  she  said,  drawing  off 
her  gloves  hurriedly.  "  Have  you  had  anything  to  eat  to-day  ?  I 
thought  not — and  of  course  you  imagine  you  do  not  care  for  any- 
thing. But  wait  until  you  see  how  I  can  prepare  it.  After  that  we 
will  sit  down — " 

"  And  then  you  will  talk  of  her?  "  wistfully.  "  You  will  tell 
me  of  Muriel  ?  " 

"  I  shall  tell  you  all  about  last  night  and  of  how  beautifully 
she  sang,  and  of  how  sweet  she  was — " 

She  set  the  door  open,  so  that  the  old  lady  could  watch  her  and 
speak  to  her  as  she  moved  about  the  little  kitchen.  Indeed,  Mrs. 
Thornton  had  never  realized  how  sorrowful  a  thing  it  was  to  live 
alone  until  she  saw  that  young  figure  hovering  around  her, 
and  heard  the  girl's  winning  tones,  and  felt  the  pressure  of  her 
hands. 

"  You  are  a  wonderful  girl,  Xaviera,"  she  said.  "  You  are  a 
dear,  good  girl.  And  God  will  surely  bless  you." 

"  I  trust  so,"  said  Xaviera.  "  I  trust  so,  for  I  am  thinking  of 
making  a  change  in  my  life — one  in  which  I  shall  need  His  bless- 


156  NEW  PLANS. 

ing,  dear  mother."  Then  she  added  thoughtfully:  "I  mean  to 
leave  my  aunts/' 

"  Leave — your  aunts !  "  The  old  fear  came  to  the  surface. 
"  You  are  not  going  away  from  Segrovia,  Xaviera?  " 

"No.  I  intend  to  look  for  a  pretty  house  of  my  own — near 
here." 

"  And  the  expense —  What  will  you  do — " 

"  Money  ?  "  Xaviera  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  Oh,  I  have 
enough  and  to  spare  of  that.  Did  you  think  I  came  to  Segrovia 
principally  to  support  myself?  Listen  to  me,  now.  I  am  going 
to  get  this  house,  and  I  want  you  to  come  into  it  with  me.  I 
would  suggest  coming  to  you  " — she  glanced  about  her  reflectively 
— "  but  there  are  too  many  sad  memories.  You  can  not  forget  so 
readily  in  this  old  house.  Try  it  with  me  a  week  or  two — and  the 
old  house  will  still  be  here,  in  case  you  feel  that  you  have  to  come 
back  to  it.  The  two  Bernard  children — I  can  make  room  for  them 
also,  and  I  am  fond  of  little  Danny.  He  is  such  an  innocent  baby 
— and  I  can  do  them  so  much  good.  Dr.  Fawcett  will  see  that  they 
are  given  to  my  care  altogether,  and  that  the  father,  if  he  does  not 
behave  himself,  can  not  come  near  them." 

The  old  lady  looked  at  her  sorrowfully. 

"  You  would  burden  yourself  with  me  ?    With  an  old,  weak — " 

"  Ah,  come  to  me  as  my  mother — I,  who  have  never  known  my 
mother,  will  love  you  for  her  sake." 

"  Child,  the  old  are  troublesome  and  fidgety,  and  prone  to 
sickness — " 

"No,"  said  Xaviera.  "You  are  not  troublesome,  and  you 
are  not  fidgety,  and  you  will  not  be  sick  any  more,  because  I  intend 
to  take  care  of  you — I,  and  Elizabeth,  and  Danny/' 

"  And  you  will  be  my  daughter  ?  " 


NEW  PLANS.  157 

The  words  came  from  her  trembling  lips  with  a  sort  of  holy 
joy.  A  strange  light  was  on  her  face.  Her  eyes  sought  the 
depths  of  Xaviera's  soul. 

"  I  will,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Then  shall  the  rest  of  my  pilgrimage  be  a  prayer  of  thanks." 
She  put  her  arms  about  the  girl  and  held  her  close.  "  A  prayer 
of  thanks — that  God  has  given  me  back  my  daughter." 


158  PHE  PA88ING   OF  DANNY. 


CHAPTER   XIH. 

THE  PASSING  OF  DANNY. 

of  the  Waverly  girls  is  ill — it  is  Constance/' said  Phyllis. 
"  She  has  always  been  delicate,  as  you  know,  Xaviera,  and  Mrs. 
Waverly  was  so  frightened  that  she  sent  for  Aunt  Mary.  Aunt 
Mary  is  quite  useful  at  times.  Though  nothing  could  have 
tempted  her  had  she  known  you  were  coming,"  and  Phyllis  laughed 
brightly.  "Now,  when  I  talk  of  infatuation,  etc.,  she  only 
looks  at  me.  She  never  says  a  word,  for  you  have  won  her  heart. 
You  know,  she  imagines  you  played  last  night." 

Xaviera  moved  her  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  Dr.  Fawcett  is  placing  me  in  a  false  position.  I  shall  never 
play  again.  If  I  could  have  been  tempted  to  do  so,  I  surely  would 
have  yielded  last  night.  But  that  part  of  my  life  is  over — and 
now  people  will  not  believe  it."  She  looked  at  Phyllis  sharply. 
"  Are  you  tired  ?  Your  face  is  very  pale.  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"Late  hours,  dissipation,  and  discoveries,"  said  Phyllis. 
"  Surely  enough  to  leave  a  mark  on  such  an  open  countenance  as 
mine.  I  am  not  the  composed  being  you  affect  to  be,  Xaviera.  But 
give  me  time  to  wonder.  What  are  you  doing  here  away  from  the 
Pomeroy  machines,  at  this  unseasonable  hour,  most  industrious 
tailor-lady?" 

"  I  am  never  going  back  to  them,"  said  Xaviera,  with  energy. 
"  That  is  why  I  came  to  you.  I  want  you  to  start  house-hunting 


THE   PASSING   OF   DAN2fT.  139 

with  me.  I  thought  you  might  like  the  novelty  of  the  thing — and 
we  must  look  for  a  house  as  near  Mrs.  Thornton's  as  possible." 

"  Oh,  she's  away  out  of  the  world !  You  are  leaving  the  Pome- 
roys?  What  for?" 

"  Aunt  Magdalen  doesn't  like  my  associates/'  said  Xaviera. 

"  She  objected  to  the  Danby  woman — I  thought  she  would ! 
Did  she  say  anything  else  to  you  ?  It  is  not — you  and  she  are  not 
going  to  live  together  ?  " 

"  I  and  who  ?  "  asked  Xaviera.  Her  face  expressed  the  aston- 
ishment she  felt.  "  I  and  who,  Phyllis  ?  " 

"  Miss  Danby,  of  course." 

"Miss  Danby,  of  course?  The  singer?"  Xaviera  stared  at 
her.  "  The  singer  ?  Oh !  You  have  heard  that  she  is  Muriel 
Thornton's  daughter?  Is  that  it?  No,  I  never  expect  to  see  her 
again.  What  made  you  think  she  meant  to  live  with  me?  You 
do  not  mean  to  say  that  she  will  remain  permanently  at  Segrovia  ?  " 
Xaviera  asked  anxiously.  "In  that  case  I  must  reconsider  my 
plans  once  more.  She  surely  means  to  take  her  mother — " 

Phyllis  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  One  hears  many  queer  things,"  she  said.  "  So  that  one 
scarcely  knows  what  is  coming  next.  Xaviera/'  she  went  on 
thoughtfully,  "  once  you  seemed  to  imply  that  Dr.  Fawcett  cared 
for  me — you  did  not  say  he  did,  but  you  seemed  to  look  upon  it  as 
a  sort  of  possibility.  Do  you  still  believe  it  ?  " 

"  Are  you  not  wise  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  little  one  ?  Why 
do  you  ask  me  that  question  ?  " 

"  I  like  to  hear  your  opinions." 

"I  have  none,"  said  Xaviera,  truthfully.  "I  have  been  so 
engrossed  in  my  own  affairs  of  late  that  others  have  had  but  little 
place  in  my  thoughts.  This  may  sound  like  a  confession  of  selfish- 


160  THE   PASSING   OF   DANN7. 

ness/*  she  went  on.  "  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  would  like  Dr. 
Fawcett  to  care  for  you,  because — " 

"  Wait/'  said  Phyllis.  "  We  speak  of  angels — that  is  his  step 
in  the  hall.  This  is  the  time  for  his  usual  visit  to  Aunt  Mary. 
Come  in/'  she  added,  pleasantly. 

"  Do  not  rise — I  do  not  wish  to  disturb  you/'  said  Dr.  Fawcett 
as  he  entered.  "  Your  aunt,  Miss  Phyllis  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  the  Waverlvs — they  sent  for  her.  Constance  has  had 
another  attack." 

« I  know." 

"  They  sent  for  Aunt  Mary  about  a  half  hour  ago.  Sit  down, 
doctor — you  are  not  disturbing  us.  She  may  be  in  at  any  moment 
now." 

"Thank  you."  He  greeted  Xaviera  with  friendly  courtesy. 
"  I  am  astonished  to  see  you  here." 

"  It  is  unusual,"  said  Xaviera. 

"  You  have  heard  that  Frayer's  place  is  in  the  market  ?  "  he 
went  on.  "  And  that  Frayer  actually  meant  it  when  he  said  he 
was  leaving?  He  will  probably  not  wait  to  settle  his  affairs — but 
place  them  in  Waverly's  hands." 

The  doctor,  ordinarily,  never  repeated  the  gossip  of  the  town. 
But  for  this  bit  of  news  he  received  his  reward  in  the  expression 
of  relief  that  crossed  Xaviera's  features. 

"  That  is  good,"  she  said. 

Phyllis  made  a  wry  face. 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  she  said.  "  But  we  shall  lose  a  number  of  fine 
entertainments.  I,  for  one,  certainly  enjoyed  his  dinners.  They 
reminded  me  of  Xew  York."  A  cloud  swept  over  her  fair  coun- 
tenance. "  Alas,  for  the  days  that  are  no  more ! "  she  continued, 
a  mocking  little  laugh  at  herself. 


THE   PASSING   OF   DANNY.  181 

"  Oh,  for  the  days  that  will  be  no  more ! "  said  Xaviera,  in  a 
voice  fraught  with  feeling.  "  Thank  God  for  the  days  that  will  be 
no  more." 

"  Even  with  the  incentive  that  he  had,  it  was  singular  that  a 
man  of  Prayer's  temperament  should  have  been  satisfied  to  live  in 
Segrovia  so  long,"  went  on  Phyllis.  "  Of  course,  we  all  realized 
that  Xaviera  was  the  attraction — "  a  sudden  light  dawned  on  the 
girl.  "  The  house  on  the  hill,  Xaviera !  Was  that  he  ?  Was  it 
he  whom  we  saw  that  night  in  the  house  on  the  hill  ?  " 

Xaviera  bowed  her  head. 

"  And  I  never  recognized  him !  Oh,  Xaviera,  no  wonder  you 
were  afraid.  Where  did  you  get  your  courage  ?  I  wish  you  could 
teach  me  a  tenth  of  it." 

"  Can  courage  be  taught  ?  " 

Silence  rested  between  the  three.  Dr.  Fawcett  did  not  under- 
stand. Xaviera's  forehead  was  wrinkled  painfully ;  Phyllis  stared 
at  her,  comprehending,  in  part,  the  pressure  that  had  been  brought 
to  bear  upon  her,  the  persistence  and  the  strength  of  will. 

"  I  hope  he  leaves  without  any  untoward  happening,"  said  Dr. 
Fawcett,  suddenly,  and  as  if  talking  to  himself.  "  So  far,  a  special 
providence  seems  to  have  taken  care  of  you.  If  he  goes  honorably 
now,  if  he  is  only  man  enough — you  can  be  happy  all  the  rest  of 
your  life  at  Segrovia." 

His  eyes  rested  on  her  with  a  kind  light  in  their  depths. 

"  You  mean  that  he  may  try  to  injure  me  ?  "  Xaviera  laughed 
and  straightened  her  shoulders.  "  I  am  not  afraid.  I  was  once 
— but  never  of  bodily  harm." 

"  Your  lack  of  fear  is  your  greatest  danger." 

"  My  greatest  safety !  "  she  rejoined.  "  My  greatest  safety. 
No.  My  brother  was  right  in  sending  me  here — among  my  own. 


162  THE  PASSING   OF   DANN7. 

Xowhere  else  could  I  have  conquered  that  first,  absurd,  womanish 
fear.  And  if  I  had  not — " 

« If  you  had  not— " 

"  Mr.  Frayer  would  not  have  gone  alone." 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  physical  danger,"  said  Dr.  Faweett. 

"  I  am  not  talking  of  physical  danger/'  said  Xaviera. 

"  Mr.  Frayer ! "  said  Fanny,  at  the  door. 

It  was  an  unwelcome  announcement  to  all  three.  Xaviera  rose 
at  once.  Dr.  Faweett  did  not  know  that  he  was  frowning  savagely. 
Phyllis,  with  some  semblance  of  courtesy,  turned  to  the  newcomer, 
smiling. 

"  I  shall  interrupt  you  but  a  moment,"  he  said.  There  was  a 
sneer  on  his  face.  "  Unpleasant  as  it  may  seem  to  be  summoned 
from  such  charming  surroundings,  Dr.  Faweett,  I  am  sent  for 
you.  Constance  Waverly  seems  to  have  taken  a  change  for  the 
worse.  And  may  I  ask  you  to  hurry  ?  My  bays  are  restive — my 
man  can  not  hold  them  long." 

Dr.  Faweett  was  on  his  feet  immediately.  Mr.  Frayer  turned 
on  his  heel  and  left  the  room  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  speaking, 
and  ran  lightly  down  the  walk  to  where  a  pair  of  massive  bays 
stood  champing  impatiently  at  the  bits.  Phyllis  followed  him, 
asking  a  question  or  two  concerning  Miss  Waverly — she  had  time 
to  do  this,  for  Dr.  Faweett  bent  over  Xaviera  for  a  few  parting, 
hurried  words.  Frayer  did  not  hear  Miss  Gordon's  questions. 
He  stared  at  Xaviera — and  from  her  to  the  physician. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  disagreeable  smile.  "  There 
is  an  understanding,  then,  between  Dr.  Faweett  and  the  fair 
Xaviera  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Phyllis,  drawing  back. 

"They  would  suit  each  other  well,"  he  continued.     "They 


THE  PASSING   OF  DA.NN7.  168 

are —  Get  out  of  there,  you  little  imp !  "  to  a  child,  who,  running 
along  the  road,  stopped  short  when  he  saw  Xaviera's  tall  figure 
at  the  door. 

"  Go  back !  "  shouted  the  servant. 

Danny  was  startled.  He  stood  still,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 
Prayer  reached  over  and  took  the  whip ;  he  was  white  with  rage — 
he  no  longer  knew  what  he  was  doing.  As  the  lash  whizzed 
through  the  air  and  caught  at  Danny's  shoulders  and  burned  about 
his  little  neck,  he  screamed  aloud  with  pain  and  fright.  The  sound 
of  the  lash  above  them,  and  the  child's  wild  scream,  were  too  much 
for  the  high-strung  animals.  The  next  instant  they  were  dash- 
ing madly  up  the  road,  with  Frayer  sawing  at  the  reins,  and  a 
quiet  little  body  lay  almost  in  the  selfsame  spot  whence  Xaviera 
had  picked  it  up  those  months  before. 

With  a  gasp  of  horror  Xaviera  sprang  forward,  thrusting 
Phyllis  aside. 

"  Danny  ! "  she  cried,  in  a  voice  of  anguish.  "  Danny !  "  And 
then  when  he  made  no  sign,  no  movement :  "  It  is  my  fault.  He 
saw  me ;  he  wished  to  come  to  me — to  his  friend !  Oh,  the  poor 
little  baby,  the  poor  little  baby ! "  she  said,  in  piteous  accents,  as 
she  clasped  the  quiet  body  to  her  heart.  "  Danny,  Danny,  dear 
little  fellow !  See,  here  is  Elizabeth  coming !  Won't  you  listen, 
Danny?" 

Some  one  stooping  over  her  took  the  lifeless  form  from  her, 
gathering  her  close  with  his  other  arm,  lifting  her  from  the  ground, 
supporting  her,  so  that  at  length  she  stood  upon  her  feet.  She 
was  dizzy  and  faint,  and  held  to  that  arm  with  both  trembling 
hands. 

"  Oh,  see  to  him,"  she  whispered  then.  "  See  to  him.  He  is 
not  dead — surely  he  is  not  dead?  Does  not  misfortune  seem  to 


164  THE  PASSING   OF  DANN7. 

pursue  all  those  who  care  for  me  ?  I  can  not  stand  it  any  longer— 
I  will  not.  I  am  beaten — I  acknowledge  it."  She  wrung  her 
hands  together.  "I  am  beaten,  beaten,  beaten!  I  will  not  try 
any  more.  It  is  over.  Let  me  go.  The  poor  little  chap,  the  poor 
little  fellow!  And  through  me!  What  will  Elizabeth  do?  0 
God!" 

"He  isn't  dead?"  asked  Phyllis,  in  a  tremulous  voice  now. 
"  He  surely  is  not  dead,  Dr.  Fawcett  ?  " 

Xaviera  waited,  her  hands  covering  her  eyes,  waiting  for  an 
answer  to  that  question.  None  came.  Instead,  the  clasp  of  the 
arm  about  her  tightened,  almost  crushing  her  to  him,  as  if  show- 
ing her  by  the  very  strength  of  his  body  that  he  was  her  friend. 
She  struggled,  and  released  herself,  trying  desperately  to  recover 
her  calm,  to  recollect  her  surroundings.  The  servants  were 
gathered  at  the  gate,  awestruck  and  wondering. 

"  You  can  do  something — "  she  began,  pleadingly. 

Her  eyes  sought  the  childish  face,  half-fearfully — the  face 
resting  on  Dr.  Fawcett's  shoulder.  The  white  lips,  the  drooping 
lids  with  the  glaze  of  blue  beneath  told  the  story. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said.    "  It  is  all  over.    It  is  too  late." 

"  He  did  not  suffer,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett,  in  a  low  tone.  "  And 
he  is  past  my  helping  now.  It  seems  like  fate  that  he  should  have 
met  his  death  on  the  very  spot  where  death  almost  found  him 
four  months  ago.  Miss  Gordon,  I  shall  have  to  trouble  you  again. 
Take  him  inside,  John,"  to  the  man  who  now  came  forward.  "  I 
must  go  on  to  the  Waverlys — I  may  be  of  use  there.  Will  you 
stay  here  until  I  return,  Miss  Pomeroy  ?  " 

He  spoke  winningly,  indeed,  but  the  girl's  face,  set  as  if  carved 
in  stone,  was  turned  away  from  him. 

"  Please  stay,  Xaviera,"  said  Phyllis. 


THE   PASSING   OF   DAN2JY.  165 

"No,"  she  said  drearily.  "Phyllis  has  the  servants  to  keep 
her  company — she  does  not  need  me.  I  must  be  alone.  I  must  be 
alone,  or  I  shall  go  mad." 

She  turned  from  them,  even  as  she  spoke.  Dr.  Fawcett  bit  his 
underlip — his  eyes  followed  her.  He  made  a  step  forward — then 
drew  back  again,  shaking  his  head.  There  was  a  hopeless  droop 
to  the  slim  figure,  the  dark  head  was  bowed.  Any  one  looking 
after  her  would  know  that  Xaviera  Pomeroy  had  said  no  idle 
words  when  she  acknowledged  her  defeat  that  day.  Every  line  in 
her  face,  every  tottering  step  she  took,  proclaimed  the  fact  that 
she  was  suffering  from  a  cruel  blow. 

Phyllis  began  to  cry. 

"  I  never  saw  her  look  like  that,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  Dr.  Fawcett, 
go  on  to  the  Waverlys,  since  the  call  is  so  imperative,  and  then  to 
her.  I  dare  not — she  would  not  have  me.  She  wants  some  one 
strong,  bold — one  who  will  fight  the  bitterness  for  her.  I  feel  as 
if  some  awful  thing  were  about  to  happen.  I  am  glad  that  I  am 
not  strong  like  her,"  she  went  on,  shuddering.  "  It  is  so  dreadful 
when  a  strong  nature  weakens." 

"  She  has  not  weakened ! "  burst  forth  the  physician,  hotly. 
"  She  dare  not  weaken  now — she  has  too  much  at  stake —  For  if 
this  is  weakness,  real  weakness,  what  will  she  do  when  the  bitter- 
est blow  of  all  descends  upon  her  ?  " 

***** 

Xaviera  climbed  the  stairs  to  her  own  room,  her  limbs  trem- 
bling. Aunt  Winifred  heard  her,  and  came  to  the  door,  asking  her 
if  she  were  not  hungry,  telling  her  that  lunch  was  ready — but 
Xaviera,  if  she  heard,  gave  no  sign.  Aunt  Winifred  stood  staring 
after  her.  What  a  strange  expression !  And  that  tottering  step ! 
Was  she  taking  Magdalen's  unfortunate  scolding  so  much  to  heart  ? 


160  THE  PASSING   OF  DANN7. 

She  loved  Xaviera  indeed,  but  she  was  afraid  of  her  in  the  same 
way  that  she  feared  Magdalen — so  intense  was  the  reserve  in  which 
the  girl  had  clothed  herself.  She  listened  to  hear  her  moving 
about  upstairs,  but  after  the  closing  of  the  door,  silence  reigned. 
A  half  hour  later  Dr.  Fawcett  came  hurriedly  into  the  room 
where  both  sisters  were  at  work. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Xaviera  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Xaviera?"  echoed  Winifred,  with  a  hesitating  look  at  Mag- 
dalen. "  She  went  upstairs  half  an  hour  ago/' 

"  Show  me  to  her  room — at  once,"  he  said,  peremptorily. 

"  She  is  ill — I  knew  there  was  something  the  matter,"  began 
Winifred  in  a  flutter.  "  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  he  said,  curtly.  Much  disturbed, 
Aunt  Winifred  rose  and  led  the  way. 

"  Here  is  the  doctor,"  she  called.    "  Open  the  door,  Xaviera." 

After  a  time  they  heard  her  rise — the  next  instant  the  bolt 
was  drawn.  When  they  entered  Xaviera  was  standing  in  the 
center  of  the  room,  holding  the  back  of  a  chair  to  steady 
herself.  Her  eyes  met  Dr.  Fawcett's  with  a  bewildered  stare  in 
them. 

"You  are  very  much  shaken,  I  suppose,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett. 
He  took  her  wrist  and  held  it.  "  If  you  will  get  me  a  glass  of 
water,  Miss  Winifred — " 

Xaviera  drew  her  hand  from  him. 

"Why  do  you  bother,  why?"  she  asked.  "I  want  to  be  let 
alone." 

"  You  are  exasperating !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why  don't  you 
let  yourself  go?  You  know  it  is  unnatural  for  any  woman  to 
force  back  her  weakness  in  this  fashion — " 

Miss  Winifred  returned. 


THE   PASSING   OF  DANN7.  187 

"This  powder  on  your  tongue — and  a  mouthful  of  water. 
After  that,  lie  down.  You  will  sleep." 

"  For  how  long  ?" 

"  Long  enough  to  give  your  nerves  a  little  rest."  Then  his 
curt  tone  changed.  "  You  will  do  this,  Xaviera  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  obediently,  tired  of  protest,    "  I  will  do  it." 


168  THE   BENDING   OF    THE    TREE. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE  BENDING  OF  THE  TEEE. 

IT  was  early  the  next  day,  and  the  hour  of  little  Danny's 
funeral.  Phyllis,  with  a  stubbornness  that  carried  all  before  it, 
insisted  that  the  boy  be  buried  from  her  aunt's  house,  and  Aunt 
Mary,  struck,  not  so  much  by  the  persistency  of  the  girl  as  by  this 
evidence  of  feeling  on  her  part,  allowed  her  to  have  her  own  way, 
but  hurried  the  preparations,  since  she  did  not  want  her  house 
turned  into  a  house  of  mourning.  The  child's  body  was  covered 
with  flowers,  and  laid  in  the  daintiest  of  caskets.  Mr.  Prayer, 
who  had  had  a  very  narrow  escape  himself  the  day  before,  called 
with  words  of  commiseration  on  his  lips — seeming  to  think  that 
if  he  offered  to  defray  all  expenses  he  had  done  enough  to  atone 
for  the  little  life  crushed  out  by  his  momentary  yielding  to  rage. 
Phyllis  would  not  permit  this.  She  felt  that  what  she  did  for 
Danny  was  done  for  Xaviera.  The  aversion  on  her  face  told 
Prayer  that  she  understood  how  completely  this  unhappy  occur- 
rence was  his  fault.  And  when  he  spoke  of  Xaviera,  Phyllis'  in- 
dignation knew  no  bounds. 

"  I  don't  think  she  will  ever  get  over  it,"  she  burst  out,  pas- 
sionately. "  Never,  the  longest  day  I  live,  shall  I  forget  her  face. 
I  wish  you  had  seen  it !  "  said  the  girl.  "  I  know  you  are  sorry — 
you  would  not  be  human  if  you  weren't  a  little  sorry — but  I  wish 
you  had  seen  her  face.  If  I  loved  anybody,  I  think — nay,  I  "know, 


THE   BENDING-   OF   THE    TREE.  169 

that  I  would  rather  die  a  thousand  deaths  than  bring  such  an 
expression  to  his  face  as  Xaviera's  wore  when  you  killed 
Danny ! " 

He  did  not  like  the  words.    They  stung  him. 

"  That  is  Xaviera's  way — she  looks  on  the  serious  side  of 
things/'  he  said. 

Xaviera  stood  at  her  window.  She  had  not  been  able  to  leave 
her  room  since,  because  of  the  strange  weakness  that  had  over- 
powered her  at  the  sight  of  Danny's  little  dead  face,  and  which 
still  clung  to  her.  Phyllis  had  sent  word  that  they  would  pass  the 
Pomeroys  on  the  way  to  the  cemetery,  so  that  she  might  see  the 
last  of  her  little  protege.  And  now  she  leaned  far  out  of  the 
window,  watching  them  until  the  bend  of  the  road  hid  them 
from  her. 

"  I  will  go  in  on  my  way  back,"  said  Phyllis.  "  Xaviera  surely 
needs  a  friend  now — yet  I  wonder  why  I  have  the  impression  that 
the  worst  is  still  to  come  ?  But  one  thing  I  know — she  must  be 
roused,  since  she  is  never  happy  in  idleness.  I  will  bring  Eliza- 
beth with  me."  She  gathered  the  little  girl  closer  to  her  in  great 
pity,  and  Dr.  Fawcett  gazed  at  her  in  admiration.  "  That  is  it," 
she  said.  "  That  is  an  inspiration.  I  will  bring  Elizabeth  to  her, 
and  leave  Elizabeth  there.  She  will  comfort  her,  and  be  herself 
again." 

"Where  has  the  frivolous  Miss  Gordon  learned  all  this?" 
asked  the  physician.  Phyllis  leaned  toward  him. 

"  From  Xaviera,  principally — and  from  the  foot  of  that  altar 
where  Xaviera  is  leading  us — my  aunt  and  me.  How  could  one 
know  her — see  her  every  day — without  being  touched  by  her 
greatness  of  soul  ?  My  soul  was  dead — she  brought  it  to  life  for  me 
— as  she  said  she  would." 


170  THE   BENDING   OF   THE    TREE. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  think  it  useless  endeavor  to  keep  that  other 
story  from  her,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett. 

"Why?" 

"  It  will  come  out — surely.  Some  one  will  blurt  it  out  to  her. 
If  we  can  only  stave  it  off  until  the  woman  is  gone — and  Frayer. 
She  will  not  feel  it  then — at  least  not  so  much." 

"  Need  it  make  any  difference  ?  "  asked  Phyllis  softly. 

"Any  difference?"  he  echoed.  "Any  difference?  She  is 
herself — pure,  true,  high-minded — " 

"  And  you  love  her,"  said  Phyllis. 

"  And  I  love  her,"  he  ended  with  a  sigh.    "  I  love  her." 

Phyllis  looked  at  him  defiantly. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  questioned,  with  rising  color.    "  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  she  does  not  love  me,"  he  finished,  simply. 

Phyllis  laughed. 

"  Perhaps  we  butterflies  are  wiser  than  you  wise  men  after  all, 
Dr.  Fawcett." 

He  shook  his  head  gravely. 

***** 

Circumstances  so  ordained  that  Xaviera,  destined  to  undergo 
what  trials  she  must  bear  in  the  harshest  manner  possible,  was  to 
face  this  one,  that  her  friends  dreaded  for  her,  alone.  Scarcely 
had  the  last  carriage  vanished  from  her  sight  and  she  had  drawn 
back  from  the  window  into  her  room  again,  than  she  heard  a  low 
tapping  at  her  door.  It  was  a  messenger,  who  brought  bad  news. 

Muriel  Thornton  wanted  her. 

Xaviera,  bending  over  the  shaken  figure,  knew  at  once  that 
death  had  set  his  seal  upon  her  forehead.  The  girl's  strong  heart 
had  been  greatly  moved  by  the  unexpected  and  tragic  ending  of 
the  little  boy.  She  had  seen  his  hopeful,  eager  face,  as,  heedless  of 


THE   BENDINO   OF   THE    TREE.  171 

the  warning  cries  and  the  impending  lash,  he  darted  forward  to 
seek  the  friend  who  ever  had  a  kind  word  or  smile  for  him.  The 
next  instant  he  had  disappeared  from  view — and  then  she  saw  the 
childish  figure  with  the  ghastly  countenance  upturned,  and  the 
look  of  terror  frozen  forever  in  the  dark-blue  eyes.  Thank  God, 
the  innocent  little  soul  had  found  its  Maker  without  further  pain 
or  sorrow.  She  dreaded  this  call  to  Muriel  Thornton's  side — for 
some  instinct  told  her  the  truth.  And  then  a  smile,  infinitely 
pathetic,  curved  the  corners  of  her  sad  mouth.  Was  it  not  fitting 
that  Muriel  Thornton  should  go — that  one  by  one  those  for  whom 
she  cared  were  taken  from  her  ?  One  by  one  her  plans  were  check- 
mated. One  by  one  the  great  Mover  of  the  chessboard  of  life  de- 
feated her.  Yes ;  it  was  but  fitting  that  Muriel  Thornton  should 
go. 

And  then  that  great  faith  which  Christ,  through  our  noble 
priests  and  martyrs,  our  bishops  and  our  popes,  has  preserved  to  us, 
came  to  her  aid.  When  most  she  needed  it,  strength  was  given. 
New  life  seemed  to  flood  through  all  her  being;  high  purpose, 
exaltation  claimed  her. 

"  Into  Thy  hands,  0  Lord  I"  she  said,  gently.  "  It  may  be  that 
I  have  not  relied  enough  on  Thee.  Into  Thy  holy  hands  I  give  my 
days,  my  thoughts,  my  actions.  Dearer  lives  than  these  have 
slipped  away  from  me — and  Thou  hast  helped  me  bear  the  blow. 
What  purpose  there  may  be  in  all  these  later  ills,  I  can  not  tell. 
Help  me,  that  I  may  be  resigned.  Help  me,  that  I  may  not 
ask." 

She  did  what  she  could  for  her  old  friend,  and  the  day  slipped 
away  from  her.  Toward  evening  Father  Powers  came  to  admin- 
ister the  last  sacraments.  There  was  no  pain — nothing  but  a  grad- 
ual lessening  of  her  hold  on  life.  Heartbreak  had  brought  Muriel 


172  THE   BENDING   OF   THE    TREE. 

Thornton  to  her  present  straits — and  Father  Powers  knew  it  as 
well  as  Xaviera. 

What  could  she  say  to  her  to  ease  her  passage  to  eternity? 
She  held  the  trembling  hands  in  hers,  after  Father  Powers  had 
gone,  and  spoke  what  comforting  words  she  could.  The  daughter 
of  this  woman — where  was  she?  Did  no  voice  whisper  to  the 
haughty,  beautiful  creature  that  her  mother — the  mother  who  had 
borne  her — lay  dying  in  a  little  room,  with  her  name  upon  her 
lips?  Did  no  sting  of  conscience  rouse  her,  telling  her  that  the 
mother  who  had  wept  so  many  tears  for  her,  who  had  suffered  and 
prayed  for  her,  was  about  to  pass  away  forever  ?  That  though  it 
might  be  the  twelfth  hour  indeed,  there  was  time,  there  still  was 
time  to  throw  herself  upon  her  knees,  to  receive  that  precious 
dying  blessing,  that  last  fond  kiss,  that  last  look  of  love  ?  To  give 
the  promise  of  a  better  life,  a  life  of  repentance,  so  that  this  woman 
might  depart  in  peace  ? 

The  hours  wore  on,  and  Xaviera  knew  that  she  would  have  to 
pass  the  night  here  now — there  was  no  one  to  take  her  place.  She 
did  not  falter  from  the  task.  .  .  .  Some  day,  perhaps,  be- 
cause of  this,  there  would  be  one  to  watch  beside  her.  ...  To 
watch  with  her  along  the  way  that  leads  beyond.  .  .  . 

Muriel  Thornton  rose  on  her  pillows,  the  agony  of  death  on 
her  pinched  face. 

"  Child,  child !  "  she  groaned. 

Xaviera  bent  above  her,  putting  her  ear  close  to  the  panting 
lips. 

"  Muriel !  "  she  begged.    "  Muriel !  " 

Ah!  That  weak  and  piteous  call  could  not  reach  the  ears  of 
the  one  for  whom  it  was  intended  even  though  it  pierced  the  heart 
of  the  girl  who  heard  it. 


THE   BENDING   OF   THE    TREE.  178 

"Muriel!  Muriel!"  she  sobbed  again.  And  once  more! 
"  Muriel,  my  little  Muriel !  " 

"  0  God !  "  said  Xaviera,  with  bated  breath.  "  0  God,  com- 
fort her.  I  can  not.  God,  help  her ! " 

"  Muriel,  my  daughter !  "  sobbed  the  quavering  voice.  "  My 
beautiful  one !  Could  you  but  see  me  die !  Oh,  cruel !  " 

Xaviera's  sorrowful  dark  eyes  were  on  the  white  face. 

"  You  are  going  away  from  me,  mother — you  are  going  away 
from  me — you  who  have  promised  to  be  my  mother/'  she  said. 

"  I  would  have  stayed,  dear — but  God  does  not  will  it  so," 
breathed  Muriel  Thornton.  "  Xaviera,  will  you  call  her  ?  Call 
her  now.  Tell  her  that  her  mother  can  not  die  until  she  has  looked 
upon  her  face  in  kindness.  Xaviera,  call  my  girl  to  me." 

"Mother!"  cried  Xaviera.  "Shall  I?  Shall  I?  Will  you 
stay  alone  without  me  ?  You  will  not  be  afraid  ?  And  I  will  go 
for  her  and  bring  her  to  you." 

It  was  late — the  difficulties  in  the  way  almost  insuperable,  and 
she  spoke  the  words  half-fearfully.  But  the  light  of  life  that 
sprang  across  the  withered  face  was  sufficient  answer,  sufficient 
impulse  to  nerve  her  to  deeds  of  daring. 

"  Dear  girl,  you  will  do  this  ?    Go,  then,  in  the  name  of  God." 

No  hesitation  now — no  drawing  back.  Bending  above  her, 
Xaviera  kissed  with  lingering  tenderness  the  cold  lips  that  she 
might  never  press  in  life  again.  Then,  taking  the  crucifix,  she 
placed  it  in  the  dying  woman's  fingers,  and  with  words  of  hope, 
set  out  upon  her  mission — the  one  mission  above  all  others  re- 
pugnant to  her.  This  natural  feeling  of  repugnance  strove  for 
mastery,  but  the  iron  will  was  there — the  will  that  had  ever  helped 
her.  She  closed  the  door  of  the  sitting-room  behind  her,  and  stood 
in  the  hall.  Then  she  knew  that  there  was  some  one  else  beside 


174  THE   BENDING   OF    THE    TREE. 

herself  who  had  come  to  see  Muriel  Thornton  die.  Startled  for 
the  instant  she  bent  forward,  trying  to  recognize  the  outlines  in 
the  dim  light. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  she  asked.    "  Who  is  there  ?  " 

No  answer  from  the  figure,  standing  with  face  averted.  Yet 
there  was  something  familiar  in  the  straightness  of  shoulders  and 
the  mass  >f  iron-gray  hair.  Xaviera  laid  her  hand  upon  her  arm, 
and  pulled  her  toward  her,  shrinking  then  as  she  met  those  glow- 
ing dark  eyes. 

"  Aunt  Magdalen !  "  she  said. 

They  looked  at  each  other.  The  girl  questioning,  fearing.  The 
woman  abashed,  pathetic,  entreating.  With  quivering  mouth  and 
appealing  mien  she  held  out  her  hands. 

"It  is  true?"  she  asked,  in  a  broken  voice.  And  Xaviera, 
listening,  knew  that  some  strong  emotion  was  working  in  this 
woman's  breast.  "  Muriel  is — dead  ?  " 

"  Not  dead/'  came  the  response.  "  But  dying.  She  is  dying, 
Aunt  Magdalen.  You  came  for — me?" 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  I  did  not  come  for  you." 

"To  upbraid,  then,  to  taunt,  perhaps  to  protest  against  my 
visits  ?  "  A  faint  tinge  of  scorn  crept  into  the  clear  voice. 

"  None  of  these  things,"  said  Magdalen  Pomeroy.  "  None  of 
these  things,  Xaviera." 

The  girl  was  silent. 

"  When  they  told  me  she  was  dead — "  went  on  her  aunt.  "  She 
is  not  dead,  Xaviera?" 

"  She  will  not  live  an  hour,"  said  Xaviera.  "  And  I  am  going 
for  her  daughter." 

"  You  ?    She  asked  you  to  go  ?  " 


THE   BENDING   OF   THE    TREE.  175 

"  She  asked  me  to  go." 

"  You  know,  then,  who  her  daughter  is  ?    She  has  told — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  said  Xaviera,  hurriedly.  "  A  mother's 
dying  wish — what  holier  thing  in  the  world,  Aunt  Magdalen  ?  " 

"  Nothing — save  a  dying  f riend's  forgiveness,"  murmured 
Magdalen  Pomeroy.  "  Death !  I  have  always  been  afraid  of 
death.  Xaviera,  there  is  much  I  would  like  to  say  to  her  who 
was  once  my  friend — who  was  my  schoolmate  long  ago,  my  more 
than  sister.  Will  it  hurt  her  if  I  go  to  her  now  ?  " 

She  spoke  pleadingly — hung  upon  the  girl's  lips  as  if  afraid  of 
what  her  answer  might  be.  Xaviera,  turning,  opened  the  door 
for  her. 

"  She  is  in  yonder  room,"  she  said.  "  In  yonder  room,  alone. 
Nothing  can  hurt  her  now,  Aunt  Magdalen,  and  it  is  a  holy  office 
to  stay  with  those  who  lie  like  her  to-night.  Go  to  her,  Aunt 
Magdalen,  and  comfort  her.  I  fear  that  my  mission  will  be  in 
vain.  And  if  it  is,  do  you  ask  God  to  let  her  die  without  knowing 
of  the  disappointment — to  let  her  die  without  knowing  that  the 
girl  whom  she  loved  refused  to  come  to  her.  God  give  you  words, 
Aunt  Magdalen." 

And  so  saying,  the  girl  drew  the  door  to  behind  her,  and  went 
out  into  the  dark  of  the  midnight  alone. 


176  THE   BITTEREST   BLOW   OF  ALL. 


CHAPTEB   XV. 

THE  BITTEREST  BLOW  OP  ALL. 

To  travel  on  foot  through  lonely  country  roads  at  midnight  is 
somewhat  of  an  ordeal  even  for  those  used  to  the  utter  silence 
and  darkness  of  such  surroundings.  It  needed  a  stout  heart  to 
plunge  into  the  bypaths  and  cross-cuts  that  led,  by  shortest  route, 
to  the  principal  street  of  the  village  and  the  hotel  Xaviera  sought. 
But  she  was  in  a  race  with  death,  and  so  keen  a  race  that  she  had 
no  time  for  fear.  She  gave  no  thought  to  herself — for  she  fell, 
too,  that  it  was  a  race  for  a  soul.  She  knew  that  if  Pamela  Danby 
— or  Muriel  Thornton,  if  she  would  call  her  by  her  real  name — 
could  but  see  her  mother  before  she  died  that  it  would  mean  her 
future  redemption.  So  Xaviera  stumbled  on  through  weeds  and 
grasses,  up  steep  little  hills,  and  down  into  the  hollows,  with  but; 
that  one  purpose  in  her  mind :  how  best  to  reach  Pamela  Danby's 
side,  and  once  there,  how  to  force  her  to  come  to  the  one  who  loved 
her  more  than  life. 

The  hotel  was  brilliantly  illuminated — and  now  as  she  ap- 
proached it  she  became  conscious  of  a  certain  hesitancy.  It  was 
filled,  as  she  knew,  with  summer  visitors,  fresh  from  the  conven- 
tionalities of  city  life,  its  usages  and  conformities.  What  would 
they  think  of  a  girl  who  came  out  after  midnight  alone  and  un- 
protected— 

Her  lip  curled  at  her  own  folly.  What  had  people's  thoughts 
or  vain  imaginings  to  do  with  Xaviera  Pomeroy  ?  The  clerk  who 


THE   BITTEREST   BLOW    OF   ALL.  177 

sat  just  inside  the  door  did  not  know  her.  He  was  a  stranger,  and 
he  looked  somewhat  superciliously  at  the  pale-faced  girl  who  stood 
before  him,  blinking  a  little  in  the  glare  of  light  after  the  dark- 
ness through  which  she  had  made  her  way  this  past  half  hour. 

"  You  will  tell  me  on  what  floor  I  can  find  Miss  Danby, 
please?" 

The  cultured  voice,  the  haughty  curve  of  the  head,  brought  the 
young  man's  nose  down  quickly. 

"  Third  floor  to  the  right,"  he  said.  "  Miss  Danby  is  enter- 
taining this  evening." 

Surely  that  tired-looking,  pale-faced  girl  could  have  nothing 
pleasant  to  impart  to  the  beautiful  Miss  Danby? 

"  She  might  not  care  to  see  any  one  just  now,"  he  continued. 
"  If  you  will  give  me  your  card — " 

"  I  have  no  card  with  me,"  said  Xaviera.  "  And  she  will  care 
to  see  me.  I  have  an  important  message  for  her — one  that  can  not 
be  put  off." 

She  turned  toward  the  stairs.  Miss  Danby  was  entertaining ! 
And  Miss  Danby's  mother — 

She  stood  on  the  third  landing,  undecided  what  to  do  next. 
Uproarious  laughter  came  from  the  rooms  to  the  right — and  sud- 
denly a  burst  of  song  in  a  beautiful  voice  that  started  a  drinking- 
chorus,  in  which  other  and  deeper  voices  joined.  Flushing  hotly, 
Xaviera  still  wavered.  What  should  she  do  ?  Break  in  upon  this 
scene  of  revelry  ?  She  would  have  nothing^f  or  her  pains — nothing. 
And  what  would  they  think  of  her? 

Frayer  was  there.  She  heard  his  tones  now,  sounding  clearly 
above  all  the  others.  Something  burned  in  her  throat;  lights 
danced  before  her  eyes.  N"o.  Not  even  for  Muriel  Thornton's 
sake  would  she  venture  into  the  camp  of  her  enemy. 


178  THE   BITTEREST  BLOW    OF  ALL. 

A  mother's  love,  a  mother's  tears!  How  dared  she  consider 
human  respect,  human  opinions,  weighing  these  holy  things 
against  them  ?  With  a  quick  uprearing  of  her  dark  head,  Xaviera 
went  to  the  door,  and,  without  preliminary  knocking,  threw  it  wide. 
And  there  she  stood  upon  the  threshold,  a  slim,  tall,  straight 
figure,  and  the  light  encircled  her — her  proud  face,  her  deep  eyes, 
her  set  lips.  So  she  stood,  and  so  they  saw  her — that  little  gather- 
ing of  boon  companions  who  had  come,  at  Pamela  Danby's  bid- 
ding, to  her  noisy  supper-table. 

Silence,  solemn  and  profound,  rested  upon  them  all — upon  the 
gentlemen:  Mr.  Waverly,  and  Allison  Frayer,  whose  eyes  kindled 
at  the  sight  of  her,  and  three  others,  whom  Xaviera  had  never 
seen  before.  Pamela  Danby,  beautifully  gowned,  covered  with 
gems,  paused  in  the  lifting  of  a  wineglass  to  her  lips,  and  fastened 
her  mocking  eyes  on  the  white,  white  face.  Her  only  woman  com- 
panion turned  a  fair  blonde  head  toward  the  girl,  languidly, 
questioningly. 

And  then  suddenly  the  singer  laughed  aloud — a  low,  mellow 
laugh  that  seemed  to  fill  every  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Welcome ! "  she  cried,  putting  her  wineglass  on  the  table. 
"  Make  room  beside  you,  Prayer,  for  this  new  guest  of  mine.  Did 
I  not  tell  you  that  you  should  have  a  surprise  ere  the  night  was 
done  ?  Come  in,  my  girl !  "  she  said,  airily.  "  Here  is  company, 
laughter,  light,  song!  And  wine,  good  wine!  A  toast,  gentle- 
men! A  toast  to  the  belated  guest!  A  toast  to  the  beautiful 
Xaviera  Pomeroy — " 

Frayer  was  on  his  feet  with  flushed  face  and  sparkling  eyes. 
He  advanced  to  the  girl,  who  stood  there  without  seeing  him — her 
eyes  upon  that  gem-decked  figure  at  the  table,  struggling  to  over- 
come the  disgust  that  filled  her — the  disgust  that  overwhelmed 


THE   BITTEREST  BLOW   OF  ALL.  179 

her.  He  touched  her  arm.  Glancing  up,  she  recognized  him,  and 
shrank  from  him  in  loathing. 

"  Do  not  put  one  finger  of  yours  on  me,  Allison  Frayer,"  she 
said.  "  My  presence  is  not  for  you — nor  my  message." 

"  You  are  daring  to  venture  this,"  he  said. 

"Xaviera  Pomeroy  may  venture  anything,"  was  the  defiant 
retort,  her  eyes  kindling  like  those  of  an  animal  at  bay.  He 
smiled  and  drew  the  door  close  behind  her.  She  did  not  seem  to 
notice  it — in  fact,  she  had  already  advanced  into  the  room,  and 
circling  the  table,  reached  the  singer's  side.  A  wonderful  glow 
spread  over  her  cold  face  and  made  it  tender. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  in  gentle  accents,  and  her  voice  was  soft 
and  sweet  and  pleading  as  a  child's  might  be.  "  Come.  I  do  not 
appeal  to  Miss  Danby  now — the  beautiful  singer  whom  men  are 
proud  to  honor — but  to  Muriel  Thornton,  the  daughter  of  a  mother 
who  lies  dying.  Lies — dying !  "  She  repeated  the  words.  "  Call- 
ing, calling,  calling  upon  one  name : '  Muriel,  my  little  Muriel,  my 
baby  Muriel !  My  daughter,  whom  I  love,  my  child ! '  Come, 
come,  come ! " 

She  held  out  her  two  hands  appealingly.  Pamela  Danby's  face 
had  changed  indeed — she  half-started  to  her  feet.  A  film  seemed 
to  shut  the  sparkle  from  her  dazzling  blue  eyes.  For  a  moment, 
just  one  single  moment,  the  better  nature  of  the  woman  struggled 
within  her.  The  diamonds  on  her  bosom  rose  and  fell,  her  lips 
quivered.  Then,  throwing  back  her  shining  head,  she  lifted  the 
wineglass  to  her  mouth  and  drained  it. 

"  Faugh ! "  she  said.  "  'Tis  but  a  good  excuse  to  enter  our 
merry  ranks.  You  need  not  put  in  such  a  plea,  Miss  Pomeroy — 
nor  did  we  need  excuse  to  invite  you  to  join  us.  Remain,  remain. 
What  have  you  or  I  to  do  with  death  ?  You  horrify  me !  Are  we 


180  THE  BITTEREST  BLOW   OF  ALL. 

not  young,  are  we  not  beautiful?  Why  should  we  torment  our 
gay  and  happy  lives  with  the  hideous  last  moments  of  a  dying 
hag!" 

"A  dying  hag!" 

Xaviera  reeled  backward,  grasping  at  the  chair  nearest  her. 

"A  dying  hag!" 

No,  she  woul<l  not  believe  her  ears.  She  bent  her  searching 
gaze  upon  the  fair  and  careless  face.  In  all  her  hardened  life, 
actress  as  she  was  and  heartless,  Pamela  Danby  had  never  met  a 
look  like  that.  The  incredulous  horror  of  it,  the  question — 

"  My  God !  "  said  the  girl.  And  then :  "  Only  His  almighty 
power  can  move  you.  I  appeal  to  God !  Oh !  "  she  cried,  "  you, 
too,  will  die  alone — you,  too,  will  die  without  one  to  comfort  you ! 
Miserable,  unhappy,  wicked,  cruel  woman,  to  deny  your  mother! 
Oh,  it  is  impossible !  I  will  not  trust  my  own  ears — you  can  not, 
with  such  a  face  as  that,  have  such  a  heart.  Think  of  her !  Why, 
she  raised  you  from  you  were  a  little  child,  hung  upon  your  baby 
words,  kissed  your  lips  and  fondled  you — " 

"  Will  some  one  ask  her  to  explain  ? "  said  Pamela  Danby, 
languidly.  "  Some — one — please — ask — her — to — explain  ?  For 
I  can  not  suffer  much  more  of  this.  We  know  that  you  have  his- 
trionic talent.  It  is  an  inheritance,  is  it  not,  my  friend  ?  "  There 
was  a  sneer  on  her  lips.  She  addressed  Frayer,  but  he  sat  with 
eyes  fastened  on  Xaviera's  face. 

"  Hush !  "  he  said,  then,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  Come  away, 
Xaviera — " 

"  She  has  inherited  it,"  went  on  the  mocking  voice.  She 
turned  to  the  girl,  furiously.  "  Who  are  you  that  comes  preach- 
ing to  me  of  filial  duty,  of  daughterly  devotion  ?  Begging  me  to 
do  thus  or  so  when  your  actions  are  but  the  reflection  of  those  you 


THE   BITTEREST   BLOW   OF   ALL.  181 

accuse  me  of !  Look  to  yourself  before  you  assume  the  accusation 
of  others ! " 

Her  voice  was  so  furious  that  Xaviera  felt  a  sudden  chill  creep 
over  her. 

"  Introduce  Miss  Pomeroy  to  her  mother ! "  went  on  Pamela 
Dauby.  "  I  pray  you,  Lord  Frayer,  you  who  brought  me  here  for 
Miss  Pomeroy's  special  benefit,  that  she  might  see  me  and  be 
proud  of  me,  introduce  the  young  lady  to  her  mother ! " 

Bewildered,  the  girl  put  up  her  arm  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow, 
staring  at  the  woman  with  her  heart  in  her  eyes.  She  could  not 
understand.  There  was  a  muttered  exclamation.  Waverly  touched 
Frayer  in  warning.  There  was  pity  on  his  face. 

And  then  the  door  was  flung  wide  for  the  second  time  that 
night,  and  a  mighty  presence  entered — a  tall,  strong  man  whose 
countenance  was  white  and  desperate  with  rage,  and  whose  eyes 
were  burning.  He  pushed  them  aside  as  if  they  were  straws,  sent 
Frayer  reeling  against  the  table,  while  he  made  his  way  to 
Xaviera  and  stood  with  her,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  looking  at 
them,  his  gaze  the  concentrated  one  of  scorn  and  fury,  but  his  lips 
silent. 

And  the  evil  spirit  in  Allison  Frayer  broke  loose. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  cried  aloud.  And  he  laughed.  "  Gentle- 
men, you  have  all  heard  the  truth — it  is  an  old  story.  Beautiful 
daughter  of  a  beautiful  mother,  I  congratulate  you.  Miss  Pamela 
Danby,  in  private  life,  Mrs.  Francis  Pomeroy,  widow,  I  doubly 
congratulate  you  on  this  accession  to  your  home  circle!  Let  us 
stand  aside ! " 

"  Ah,  no — rather  let  us  drink  to  her  health — to  my  daughter's 
health,"  said  Pamela  Danby.  "  To  me  and  to  mine !  " 

There  was  a  slight  smile  at  the  corners  of  Xaviera's  mouth. 


182  THE   BITTEREST   BLOW   OF  ALL. 


Banby  leaned  forward,  the  devil  that  had  taken  possession 
OI-DCT  rejoicing. 

"  To  me  and  to  mine  !  "  she  repeated.  "  To  my  husband  who 
is  dead,  and  to  my  son,  who  has  followed  his  father  —  and  to  you, 
my  daughter,  who  are  spared  to  me." 

Those  sacred  names,  those  well-beloved  names  !  Those  names 
breathed  through  the  silence  of  the  night  in  love  and  yearning! 
This  woman  claimed  them  —  claimed  her  dead  — 

"  It  is  a  lie  !  "  said  Xaviera,  calmly.  "  My  mother  was  a  good 
and  noble  woman,  and  she  died  —  " 

"  A  good  and  noble  woman  —  that  I  grant  you,"  said  Pamela 
Danby,  laughing.  "  But  she  did  not  die.  No,  nor  is  she  likely 
to  die  for  many,  many  years.  So  !  "  She  looked  at  her  mean- 
ingly. "  You  thought  to  despise  me  —  to  stand  aloof  from  me  — 
to  hold  up  to  me  a  code  of  morals,  and  my  blood  runs  in  your 
veins  !  " 

"  Family  recriminations,"  said  Frayer,  in  a  sharp,  high  voice. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  man  who  stood  beside  Xaviera  Pome- 
roy.  "You  have  at  least  the  appearance  of  a  man,  Mr.  Frayer. 
Although  it  will  be  difficult,  try  to  pretend  you  are  one.  Come, 
Xaviera." 

It  seemed  natural  that  he  should  be  there-  Her  eyes  clung  to 
his  face. 

"I  will  not  believe  it,"  she  said.  "It  is  not  true.  Such  a 
thing  as  that  could  not  be  true." 

"  You  told  me  you  were  strong,"  he  said.  "  Sufficient  to  your- 
self. Remember  that  now.  Bring  that  will  to  your  assistance. 
Come  away  from  here." 

"  I  can  not  move,"  she  said.  Her  lips  were  parched  and  dry. 
"  I  can  not.  There  is  no  power  in  my  limbs." 


THE   BITTEREST  BLOW   OF   ALL.  188 

"  Lean  upon  me,"  he  urged.  "  Lean  upon  me.  Let  me  carry 
you —  Xaviera,  I —  Anything,  anything,  so  that  you  leave 
here— " 

"  Tell  me,"  she  went  on,  heedless  of  his  words.    "  Tell  me." 

"  I  can  not/'  he  said,  inwardly  groaning. 

"  It  is  not  true,  then  ?  "  Hopefulness  sprang  suddenly  to  her 
face.  "It  is  not  true?" 

"  Give  me  your  burden  to  bear,"  he  said,  imploringly.  "  Am  I 
not  your  friend — " 

But  the  question  in  that  face  compelled  an  answer. 

"  Yes,  Xaviera,  Pamela  Danby  is  your  mother — the  daughter 
of  the  poor  old  woman  you  have  befriended  so  long,  unconscious 
that  she  was  indeed  of  your  own  flesh  and  blood." 

She  grasped  the  meaning  of  his  words — she  responded  at  once 
to  the  guiding  pressure  of  his  hand.  She  turned  toward  the  door, 
very  quietly.  Not  a  breath  stirred  in  the  room — every  eye  watched 
her.  As  she  reached  the  threshold  a  sigh  burst  from  her — one 
sigh.  It  told  so  plainly  of  the  breaking  heart  within  her  breast 
that  with  one  accord  the  men  seated  at  the  table  exchanged  glances 
— then  rose  simultaneously — excepting  Frayer. 

"  It  is  getting  late,"  said  Mr.  Waverly,  in  an  abrupt  tone.  "  I 
must  get  home." 

***** 

Dr.  Fawcett  drew  the  girl  along  the  hall,  down  the  stairs,  out 
into  the  night. 

"  Where  am  I  going  ?  "  she  asked,  in  an  irritated  voice.  "  I  am 
tired.  I  can  not  walk  any  farther." 

"  Just  a  few  steps  now,"  he  said.    "  You  are  going  home." 

"  Home !"  Her  head  drooped,  her  arms  hung  limply.  "Home ! 
I  am  going  home !  " 


184  THE   BITTEREST   BLOW   OF  ALL. 

He  bit  his  underlip  savagely.  The  utter  dreariness  of  the  tone 
unmanned  him. 

"  This  is  the  time  now,  Xaviera,"  he  said.  "  As  you  bear  this 
so  will  your  future  life  be.  Let  me  help  you — " 

"  I  need  no  help,"  she  said,  meekly.  "  I  need  no  help.  What 
is  there  to  help  ?  " 

He  took  her  hand,  troubled. 

"  Xaviera,  you  frighten  me.  Weep,  dear,  weep — anything  but 
this  unnatural  quiet." 

"  I  see  no  cause  for  weeping,"  she  said,  and  her  tone  was  quite 
rational.  "  Have  you  been  to  Mrs.  Thornton's  ?  " 

"  I  came  from  there.  The  woman  was  not  in  her  right  mind,  or 
she  would  not  have  sent  you.  Were  they  all  mad  to  let  you  go  into 
the  very  jaws  of  danger?  It  has  threatened  you  since  Pamela 
Danby  came.  But  you  are  strong,  Xaviera." 

"Yes,  I  am  strong."  She  smiled  pitifully.  "I  am  strong. 
Was  Aunt  Magdalen  there?" 

"Yes." 

"  Mrs.  Thornton  was  alive — when  you  came  ?  " 

"  At  the  very  last  ebb." 

"  She  may  last  until  I  get  to  her,  then  ?  " 

"  Xaviera,  you  shall  not  go  there  again  to-night." 

"  Her  daughter  would  not  come,"  said  Xaviera.  "  Her  daugh- 
ter— my  mother — would  not  come!  And  I — I  am  her  grand- 
daughter. Shall  I  not  be  with  her  at  that  last  moment  ?  If  God 
will  but  spare  her  until  I  come.  She  knew?  She  knew  it  all 
the  time?" 

"Yes." 

"  If  she  had  but  told — told  me.    I  would  not  have  left  her." 

"  You  can  stand  no  more  to-night,  Xaviera." 


THE   BITTEREST   BLOW   OF  ALL.  185 

She  laughed. 

"  The  world  could  crumble  to  pieces  about  me  now — my  world 
is  in  pieces !  "  she  said.  "  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  Go  to 
Aunt  Winifred,  I  suppose  ?  Go  home — to  bed — to  sleep — to  rest — 
Ah ! "  she  shuddered  so  violently  that  she  stumbled  and  would 
have  fallen  had  he  not  supported  her.  "  I  shall  never  rest  again ! 
If  my  strength  will  but  last — " 

"  For  what— to  do  what  ?  " 

"  To  go  away." 

"Go  away?" 

"  Yes.  There,  you  are  my  friend."  She  spoke  hastily,  fever^ 
ishly.  "  Let  me  go  to  Mrs.  Thornton's — and  then  when  all  is 
over,  help  me  to  steal  away  quietly.  I  need  nothing.  I  have  all 
the  money  I  require  here  in  my  purse.  Oh,  it  will  be  so  good  to 
get  away.  You  know.  I  want  to  go  somewhere — in  solitude. 
Where  I  shall  hear  no  human  voice.  I  want  to  lie  somewhere 
with  my  face  to  the  earth — alone.  Just  to  be  alone.  I  shall 
surely  try  to  rest  then — and  it  will  be  so  good.  You  have  been 
kind  to  me  always.  Help  me  to  do  this." 

"  Xaviera,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  trembled.  He  stood  still  and 
put  his  arms  about  her,  bringing  her  head  to  his  shoulder  almost 
savagely.  "You  shall  rest — but  here,  here,  on  my  breast — your 
resting-place  forever.  Xavitra,  I  love  you,  girl.  I  love  you  with 
all  my  heart  and  with  all  my  soul.  I  love  you  so  that 
my  one  thought  is  for  you — my  one  desire,  Xaviera,  my 
love!" 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  a  little  wearily.    "  You  are  too  kind." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said.  "  And  if  I  am  kind  it  is  only  to  myself. 
Do  you  know  where  we  are  standing?  On  the  very  spot,  where, 
six  months  ago,  I  met  you  first,  and  insisted  on  seeing  you  to  your 


188  THE   BITTEREST  BLOW   OF   ALL. 

door.  I  did  not  understand  you  then,  Xaviera — but  I  knew 
there  was  nothing  but  goodness  under  that  quiet,  quiet  manner. 
Dear  heart,  I  think  I  loved  you  then.  But  I  did  not  realize  it — 
not  until  that  night  on  which  Allison  Frayer  gave  his  dance,  and 
I  thought  I  saw  you  with  him  on  the  hill  road.  Blind,  unreason- 
ing jealousy  filled  me.  I  came  to  find  you,  resolved  to  save  you 
from  that  man,  even  though  you  scorned  me  for  my  intervention. 
I  learned  that  it  was  Pamela  Danby.  She  has  your  height — your 
grace  of  movement — " 

"  My  mother !  "  said  Xaviera,  and  again  the  shuddering  seized 
upon  her.  She  had  been  listening  to  him  passively  enough  until  he 
mentioned  that  name.  "  My  mother !  I  am  not  strong — now," 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  There  is  no  strength  left  in  me— either 
of  mind  or  body.  Therefore  I  ask  you  to  respect  my  weakness — 
to  let  me  stand  alone.  Take  your  arms  away.  Thank  you.  That 
is  better.  .  .  .  My  mother!" 

"Xaviera,  does  not  my  love  give  me  the  right  to  comfort 
you?" 

She  made  no  reply. 

"  Let  me  show  you  the  way  that  leads  beyond  this  misery.  In 
my  heart  you  will  find  rest.  It  shall  be  my  daily  care  to  teach 
you  to  forget — " 

"  Even  if  the  way  you  led  were  into  paradise,  I  can  not  go," 
she  said.  "  I  may  not  follow.  I  would  be  a  blight  upon  you.  Do 
not  urge  me.  I  am  conscious  of  the  great  honor  you  show  me. 
I  am  conscious  of  the  great  pity  that  prompts  one  of  your  high 
moral  standard  to  take  the  poor,  forsaken  being  to  the  im- 
pregnable shelter  of  your  roof  and  name.  But  not  even  that  can 
tempt  me.  You  are  worthy  of  better  things.  As  for  me —  To- 
day my  wings  were  broken.  I  can  no  longer  strive  to  pierce  the 


THE   BITTEREST  BLOW   OF  ALL.  187 

blue  of  lofty  desires  and  high  ambitions.  There  is  nothing  left 
me  now  but  to  steal  quietly  away — to  hide  my  head  in  some  for- 
saken corner.  Is  there  such  a  place  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ?  If 
I  can  but  find  it— if  I  can  but  find  it ! " 

"  I  am  not  well  acquainted  with  the  ways  of  woman,"  said  Drv 
Fawcett,  gravely.  "  This  was  an  unwise  time  to  speak  of  such  a 
thing — yet  I  thought  it  might  help  you  to  know  that  I  suffer  with 
you —  This  is  Mrs.  Thornton's  now.  Come,  Xaviera." 

They  entered  into  the  chamber  of  death,  where  the  woman  lay 
in  perfect  peace,  her  hands  upon  her  quiet,  pulseless  breast,  her 
lids  closed  decently.  Beside  her  knelt,  almost  as  motionless  as 
ehe,  Magdalen  Pomeroy. 

"  She  is  dead  ?  "  asked  Xaviera,  almost  indifferently. 

Magdalen  Pomeroy  looked  up. 

"  She  died  an  hour  ago — in  my  arms,"  she  said.  "  Xaviera,  I 
have  much  to  tell  you — much  to  explain,  much  to  ask  forgiveness 
for.  Will  you  think  of  me  kindly,  at  least,  until  after  my  story 
is  told?" 

Xaviera  bowed  her  head. 

"So  your  will  is  broken,  too,  Aunt  Magdalen?"  she  asked. 
"  Your  will  is  broken,  too  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Magdalen  Pomeroy,  adding:  "And  I  am  glad." 

"  And  mine,"  said  Xaviera,  "  and  mine,  also."  But  she  could 
not  add  words  of  gladness — yet.  Human  nature  was  too  strong 
within  her. 

"  You  will  leave  us  now,"  said  Magdalen.  "  I  do  not  want 
you  to  stay  here,  Xaviera.  You  must  go  home.  I  shall  spend  the 
rest  of  this  night  alone — with  my  friend  whom  I  lost,  and  whom 
I  found  again — whom  indeed  I  found  again." 


188  THE   STRUGGLE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  STRUGGLE. 

ALMOST  mechanically,  the  girl  said  her  prayers,  disrobed,  re- 
tired, moving  softly,  as  if  there  were  some  reason  for  absolute 
quietness.  That  strange  dulness  of  heart  and  brain  was,  above 
all  things,  the  most  merciful  that  could  have  befallen  her.  She 
drew  the  covers  close  about  her,  and  lay  there,  gazing  out  of  the 
window,  staring  up  at  the  stars  that  twinkled  in  the  vault  of 
heaven,  wondering,  wondering,  wondering. 

Vaguely  she  asked  herself  what  had  come  to  her,  why  she  was 
so  passive  when  everything  seemed  gone  out  of  her  life — when  all 
that  she  could  see  before  her  was  a  blank — a  straight,  uncom- 
promising, dreary  path.  The  way  that  led  beyond  was  into  deso- 
lation now. 

Yet  neither  joy  nor  sorrow  stirred  within  her.  She  stared  out 
in  that  fashion  until  the  lids  closed  over  the  too  bright  eyes  and 
she  slept.  The  shadows  of  the  night  lay  thick  and  heavy  on  the 
little  town — the  mysterious,  still  shadow  of  those  darkest  hours 
that  precede  the  dawn.  For  Xaviera  dawn  was  breaking,  and 
peace.  But  she  knew  it  not.  One  thing  above  all  others  she 
had  to  learn — that  no  one  can  be  self-sufficient — that  no  one  dare 
say  "I  will,"  without  adding,  "If  it  please  Thee,  Lord,  my 
Master."  True,  Xaviera  had  said  these  words — her  lips  had 
framed  them,  her  mind  had  willed  them.  But  the  traits  that  were 
characteristic  of  her,  the  pride,  the  determination,  the  confidence 


THE   STRUGGLE.  189 

in  herself,  remained,  despite  apparent  yielding  to  that  higher 
power. 

Is  not  that  the  way  with  us — with  all  of  us  ?  We  ask  Him  to 
take  all,  take  everything.  Our  lips  frame  the  words,  yes,  even 
our  hearts.  We  feel  them.  And  even  as  we  do  so,  we  know  that 
there  is  the  same  reliance  on  our  own  strength  to  do  what  we  will, 
to  shape  our  future  as  it  pleases  us.  All  among  us  who  think  to 
have  the  courage  of  our  convictions,  know  how  hard  it  is  to  yield 
— know  how  strong  is  the  stubbornness  of  Adam. 

And  the  quiet  stars  that  had  looked  with  pity  on  one  girl's 
heartbreak,  on  the  peaceful  death  of  one  loving  soul,  on  the 
penitence  of  another  long  closed  to  thoughts  of  holiness — all  these 
stars  looked  down  now,  their  pale  light  illumining  faintly  the 
room  of  that  girl  who  lay  sleeping,  tired  out  alike  in  mind  and 
body,  the  deathlike  sleep  of  exhaustion.  The  light  could  not 
penetrate  into  the  chamber  where  Magdalen  Pomeroy  kept  vigil 
beside  the  woman  she  had  ignored  so  long,  nor  reach  the  beau- 
tiful face  of  the  heartless  creature  who  had  refused  to  listen  to 
the  one  call  sacred  above  all  others — the  last  beseeching  prayer 
of  a  mother,  whose  dying  breath  had  carried  with  her  into  eternity 
the  name  of  "  Muriel !  " 

God  shows  us,  sometimes,  as  evidence  of  His  mercy  toward  us, 
how  hardened  that  heart  may  become  that  excludes  Him  from  it. 
Pamela  Danby's  was  one  case.  Even  Magdalen  Pomeroy,  after 
the  years  that  had  crusted  her  proud  nature  with  sins  of  hatred 
and  dislike,  could  not  forget,  when  death  came,  that  Muriel 
Thornton  had  been  dear  to  her.  She  wanted  to  sit  beside  this 
bed  of  death.  She  wanted  to  think  over  the  past.  She  wanted 
to  pour  forth  the  bitterness  of  the  years,  her  consciousness  reach- 
ing upward,  groping,  groping,  ever  groping  to  that  mysterious 


100  THE   8TRUGQLB. 

silence  which  enveloped  the  soul  of  Muriel  Thornton,  confident 
that  God  would  permit  her  to  understand  and  to  forgive. 

For  she  had  told  her  all. 

With  bowed  head  and  folded  hands  she  touched  upon  the  past, 
and  when  the  words  were  finished,  the  woman  who  had  loved  her 
always  looked  at  her  with  eyes  of  pity  and  of  tenderness. 

"  We  could  have  borne  it  so  much  better,"  she  said.  "  We 
could  have  borne  it  so  much  better — together.  We  could  have 
helped  each  other.  For  I  loved  you."  And  then  with  those  bright 
eyes  still  upon  her,  a  smile  parted  her  lips.  "I  love  you  still, 
Magdalen."  Her  hands  clutched  at  the  crucifix — by  a  great  effort 
she  brought  it  up,  up,  to  her  mouth.  It  fell,  face  down  upon 
her  bosom.  "  Muriel !  My  daughter  Muriel !  " 

"  I  love  you  still,  Magdalen !  " 

And, 

"  Muriel !     My  daughter  Muriel !  " 

The  patient  soul  had  winged  its  flight  from  earth  forever. 

No  wonder  Magdalen  Pomeroy  wanted  to  be  alone — to  thank 
God  for  those  dying  words  that  had  unsealed  the  fountain  of 
tears  and  sent  her  down  upon  her  knees  beside  the  friend  whom 
she  would  not  forgive,  and  who  had  "  loved  her  still."  Sent  her 
down  on  her  knees  before  the  patient  God  who  had  waited  for 
her  so  long. 

Heavier  and  heavier  the  deepening  shadows  grew.  The  dew 
fell  on  the  sleeping  leaves  and  lay  thick  on  the  heads  of  the  slum- 
bering flowers.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  save  the  sing-song  chirp- 
ing of  the  crickets,  "  busy  shuttles  of  the  summer  night."  Ever 
and  anon  a  mysterious  little  zephyr  filled  the  trees,  disturbing 
leaf  and  branch,  so  that  they  drew  closer  together,  murmuring 
as  if  in  protest.  But  there  was  none  abroad  to  hear,  to  feel, 


THE   STRUGGLE.  191 

that  soft  little  murmuring  zephyr  that  stirred  them  to  sleepy 
speech. 

And  the  soft  little  murmuring  zephyr  became  an  air,  and 
the  air  a  breeze,  and  the  breeze  a  wind,  stronger,  and  stronger,  and 
stronger.  The  wind  increased  in  volume.  And  what  had  first 
been  the  zephyr  became  a  mighty  gale,  that  blew  out  the  twinkling 
of  the  tiny  stars,  one  by  one,  sending  low  clouds  in  drifting, 
tumbling  masses  across  the  purple  heavens.  And  then — through 
the  blackness,  the  overwhelming  blackness  that  hung  furled  above 
the  earth,  waiting  but  the  moment  to  envelop  it — then,  then  a 
delicate  pink  lit  up  the  northern  sky — a  faint  touch  of  color,  soft, 
unreal,  mystifying.  So  it  hung,  a  vapor  merely — until  at  last, 
like  a  scarlet  rose,  the  flame  cut  through  it — a  long,  sharp,  wav- 
ering tongue  of  flame. 

A  sudden  cry  of  alarm,  many  voices  blending  into  one  shout 
of  terror,  a  bustling  along  the  quiet,  hilly  streets,  the  pattering 
of  feet,  the  hoarse  calls  of  men,  half-dressed,  half-waking,  who 
fled  to  the  work  of  rescue — and  then  the  alarm  bells  took  up  the 
theme.  There  were  lives  to  save  and  there  were  homes  to  keep 
from  destruction.  Again  and  again  the  brazen  peal  rang  forth; 
this,  and  the  racing  of  the  feet  outside  her  window,  roused  the 
girl.  She  sat  up,  frightened,  as  one  awakened  from  a  bad  dream, 
and  drew  the  clothes  around  her  tightly.  It  was  no  dream.  The 
noise  did  not  lessen.  Above  the  babel,  she  heard  the  cry 
of  fire — that  dreadful  cry,  always  one  to  fill  the  soul  with  terror 
and  with  fear. 

Xaviera  sprang  from  her  bed  immediately.  Now  indeed  she 
was  sure  that  the  events  of  the  past  years  were  but  the  hideous 
fancies  of  a  nightmare.  Once,  during  her  beloved  brother's  life- 
time, she  had  been  with  him  in  a  small  Italian  village,  when,  at 


19*  THE    STRUGGLE. 

midnight,  that  dread  cry  roused  them  both.  The  horror  of  it 
had  never  quite  faded  from  her  mind,  and  the  horror  of  it  came 
upon  her  numbed  soul  now.  Again  she  saw  the  terrible  blaze  and 
heard  the  shrieks  of  those  whose  dear  ones  were  perishing;  again 
she  saw  building  after  building  reduced  to  ashes,  while  the  men 
who  would  gladly  have  helped  stood  by  with  impotent  hands, 
rendered  powerless  by  lack  of  water.  Bewildered  and  confused 
Xaviera  sat  there,  thinking  of  the  past. 

"  Frank !  "  she  called.  "  Frank,  my  brother,  where  are  you, 
where  are  you  ?  Brother,  brother !  " 

She  realized  her  surroundings  then — and  the  old-time,  first, 
keenest  grief  of  her  bereavement  came  upon  her.  She  turned, 
throwing  herself  on  the  bed,  her  face  buried  in  the  pillows. 

"  My  brother ! "  she  sobbed,  in  bitter,  dry  gaspings  that 
seemed  to  rend  her  whole  frame.  And  again :  "  My  brother,  my 
brother,  my  brother  I"  more  bitterly  and  hopelessly  still. 

There  came  the  patter  of  bare  feet  along  the  hall.  Her  aunt's 
voice  trembled  outside  the  door. 

"  Xaviera !  Wake  up,  wake  up,  child !  The  hotel  is  burning, 
and  Magdalen  has  not  slept  in  her  room  all  night.  Xaviera! 
"Wake  up!  Open!  It  is  Winifred,  your  aunt  Winifred." 

The  girl  raised  herself,  and  admitted  the  ashen-faced,  tremb- 
ling little  woman. 

"  Where  is  Magdalen  ?  "  were  her  first  words.  "  Such  a  thing 
has  never  happened  to  us  before.  Never.  She  has  never  spent 
a  night  outside  this  house.  Where  can  she  have  gone —  Speak  to 
me,  Xaviera !  Do  not  stand  there  like  a  frozen  creature — a  being 
of  snow.  Xaviera — " 

"Aunt  Magdalen  is  with  my  grandmother.  She  died  to- 
night," said  Xaviera,  in  an  expressionless  tone. 


THE   STRUGGLE.  198 

Winifred  fell  back  against  the  door,  clasping  her  hands  to- 
gether. 

"  You  know  ?  "  she  asked,  breathlessly. 

"  I  know,"  said  Xaviera.    "  I  know — Aunt  Winifred." 

"Not— all?" 

"  All — everything." 

"  Dear  heart,"  said  Aunt  Winifred,  pitifully.    "  Magdalen — " 

"  Went  of  her  own  free  will,"  said  Xaviera.  "  And  was  with 
her  when  she  died." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Aunt  Winifred,  her  breath  catching  in  her  throat. 
"  I  am  glad  it  was  so  before  Muriel  died.  Listen,  Xaviera !  What 
dreadful  cries!  I  am  afraid  to  stay  here  without  Magdalen." 
The  timid  soul  of  the  woman,  controlled  always  by  the  more 
powerful  sister,  spoke  in  those  words.  "  Let  us  go,  Xaviera  ?  Let 
us  go  find  Magdalen.  Let  us  see — " 

"  Dress  yourself,"  said  Xaviera.    "  We  will  go  together." 

Ten  minutes  afterward  they  joined  the  stream  of  people  who 
had  been  roused  by  the  ringing  of  the  bells  and  the  great  alarm. 
The  fire,  starting  in  the  hotel — some  said  in  the  very  rooms 
where  the  singer  had  entertained  her  guests — had  gained  con- 
siderable headway.  The  whole  building  was  ablaze  now,  and  the 
guests  who  had  escaped  were  searching  distractedly  for  relatives 
and  friends  amid  the  confused  ring  of  spectators,  or  bemoaning 
lost  valuables.  There  was  no  order.  And  now  there  came  the 
greatest  horror  of  all.  The  wind,  suddenly  veering,  carried  the 
flames  directly  across  the  heart  of  the  town.  Two  of  the  neigh- 
boring cottages  had  already  caught. 

It  was  so  like  the  scene  that  Xaviera  had  once  before  witnessed 
that  she  could  scarcely  persuade  herself  that  she  was  awake.  She 
watched,  with  wide,  dark  eyes,  the  peril  of  those  who  ventured 


194  THE   STRUGGLE. 

to  fight  this  ever-increasing  danger.  So  keen  was  this  impression 
that  when  a  man  pressed  his  way  to  her  side,  extending  a  strong 
arm  to  keep  hack  the  crowd,  that  she  grasped  at  it  with  tremulous 
fingers. 

"  Isn't  it  awful  ?  "  she  said,  just  as  she  had  said  it  years  be- 
fore. "Isn't  it  terrible?  What  will  they  do,  Frank?  The  poor 
souls!" 

The  man  did  not  answer. 

"  Such  a  wind !  "  went  on  Xaviera.  "  It  will  destroy  the  whole 
town  if  something  is  not  done  at  once.  What  a  disaster ! " 

"  There !  "  said  Edgar  Fawcett's  voice.  "  The  Fanning  house 
has  caught — there  is  not  enough  water.  Xaviera !  "  He  turned 
to  her  suddenly.  "  They  have  sent  telegrams  to  Bayardstown  and 
Corning — help  will  not  be  long  in  coming.  But  my  house  lies 
directly  in  the  path  of  the  flames — will  you  take  my  keys  and 
save  the  manuscripts  and  papers  in  my  desk  ?  Save  them  before 
you  do  anything  else — they  are  very  precious  to  me.  The  old 
housekeeper  will  show  you  where  the  desk  is." 

"  But  you — "  began  Xaviera,  a  little  startled. 

"  I  stay  here,  of  course,"  he  said.  "  Go  with  your  niece,  Miss 
Pomeroy,"  he  continued.  He  was  anxious  now  to  save  the  much- 
tried  girl  from  the  scenes  he  knew  were  to  follow  on  the  heels 
of  this  disaster.  Already  they  were  shouting  his  name,  calling 
for  his  help,  and  he  knew  that  Xaviera  would  want  to  assist  also 
if  she  remained.  She  had  suffered  sufficiently. 

Gray  and  colorless  the  morning  broke.  At  dawn  aid  arrived 
from  the  neighboring  town,  and  with  their  ranks  thus  augmented 
the  citizens  soon  had  the  fire  under  control.  The  wind  abated 
considerably,  but  it  was  chill  and  cold,  and  a  fine  rain  had  set 
in.  Dr.  Fawcett  started  to  work  in  earnest  when  he  saw  Xaviera 


THE   STRUGGLE.  195 

disappear.  He  was  everywhere  at  once,  giving  orders  and  direct- 
ing the  rescuers.  Not  until  the  first  help  arrived  from  Corning 
did  he  give  himself  a  moment's  rest,  and  would  not  have  taken  it 
then  had  not  a  physician  heen  among  them. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  before  he  turned  his  face  toward  home — 
a  weary,  smoke-grimed  face  it  was.  His  handkerchief  was 
wrapped  about  a  severe  burn  on  one  of  his  hands  and  the  whole 
side  of  his  coat  was  gone.  When  he  opened  the  door  and  entered 
the  hall  he  scarcely  recognized  his  own  house.  Almost  by  a 
miracle  it  had  escaped  with  a  scorching — and  now  the  hall  was 
filled  with  those  who  had  been  rendered  homeless.  They  over- 
flowed into  the  parlor,  back  into  the  dining-room;  they  were 
sitting  on  the  stairs.  He  looked  about  him  in  amazement.  Some 
of  them  were  weeping.  Some  of  them  were  half -asleep.  Then, 
raising  his  head,  he  met  Xaviera's  questioning  glance,  and  he 
knew  that  she  had  brought  them  here  for  refuge.  He  smiled. 
Was  not  all  that  he  possessed  her  very  own  ?  And  was  not  every- 
thing she  did  well  done?  To  him  that  white  face  was  super- 
human in  its  beauty. 

"Come,  St.  Elizabeth,"  said  he.  "Bestow  of  your  tireless 
assistance  upon  one  who  needs  it  sorely.  Leave  Aunt  Winifred 
and  Sara  to  attend  to  these." 

She  hesitated.  He  held  up  his  bandaged  hand  and  she  came 
to  him  immediately. 

"You  are  hurt?" 

"  No ;  not  hurt."  He  paused,  looking  at  her  keenly.  "  And 
you — how  do  you  feel?" 

"A  little  tired,"  she  confessed.  "But  whether  of  heart  or 
body  I  have  not  had  time  to  find  out." 

K  Are  they — everywhere  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  smile,  indicating 


iW  THE    8TRUQGLS. 

the  people  about  him.  "  Haven't  you  saved  me  some  little  corner, 
Xaviera  ? " 

"  Yes — your  study.    No  one  is  in  there.    I  have  locked  it." 

"  Come  with  me,  then.    I  would  ask  you  something,  Xaviera." 

He  took  her  arm  and  led  her  through  the  parlor,  smiling  and 
nodding  in  friendly  fashion  as  he  passed.  Then,  as  she  unlocked 
the  door  he  threw  it  open  and  motioned  that  she  should  precede 
him. 

"You  will  not— " 

She  ventured  the  question  hurriedly. 

"And  if  I  did?  Could  one  find  fault  with  me?"  he  asked. 
"  Ah,  Xaviera,  all  here  in  Segrovia  who  know  you — " 

"  Will  not  know  me  long." 

*  You  still  intend  to  go  away  ?  " 

She  glanced  at  him,  surprised. 

"Yes." 

"Where  will  you  go?" 

"  As  far  from  here  as  my  strength  will  carry  me — to  Italy— 
But  no,  not  to  Italy,  where  the  happiest  hours  of  my  life  were 
spent !  Not  to  Italy,  but  to  some  far,  far-distant,  stranger  land — " 

"  Nothing  can  keep  you  ?  " 

"Why?"  she  questioned.  "What  should  keep  me  here?  I 
found  neither  home,  nor  home-love ;  no  affection  save  that  of  the 
woman  who  is  dead,  and  those  two  little  children— one  of  whom 
met  his  death  through  me." 

"  Absurdity ! "  said  Dr.  Fawcett.  "  You  are  not  in  your 
right  senses." 

"  If  I  had  not  come  to  Segrovia,"  said  Xaviera,  impressively, 
"  Allison  Frayer  would  never  have  come.  Had  he  not  come,  Danny 
would  have  been  alive  to-day." 


THE   STRUGGLE.  1M 

"And  I  consider  your  coming  a  direct  answer  to  Muriel 
Thornton's  life  of  prayer." 

Xaviera  shook  her  head. 

"  Prove  it  to  me — she  died  with  silent  lips.    She  would  not  even 
acknowledge  our  relationship." 

"  For  your  sake — as  she  told  me,  and  as  I  shall  prove  to  you. 
You  do  not  know  how  much  she  loved  you,  Xaviera,  or  what  a 
temptation  it  was  to  her  to  tell  you  that  story  and  claim  you  for 
her  very  own." 

Xaviera  was  silent. 

"  Besides,  you  have  made  a  place  for  yourself  in  Segrovia  that 
will  be  hard  to  fill.  You  must  stay,  Xaviera." 

Argument  was  useless — but  she  smiled,  and  he  knew  what 
little  effect  the  words  had  on  her. 

"  It  is  the  wish  of  my  heart  to  keep  you,  dear,"  he  said,  ten- 
derly. "  Xaviera,  you  love  me." 

"No,"  she  said. 

"  You  do  not  love  me  ?  Again,  what  absurdity !  Come,  come, 
come!  You  know  what  I  am  longing  to  say.  Once  this  day  I 
asked  you  to  let  me  help  you  bear  the  sorrow  that  has  come  upon 
you.  You  do  love  me — and  until  you  find  it  out,  I  shall  be  sat- 
isfied with  whatever  you  can  give." 

Her  dark  eyes  glistened.    She  came  closer  to  him. 

"You  are  a  good,  a  noble  man,"  she  said.  "But  you  are 
wronging  yourself.  If  I  respected  you  less  I  might  be  moved 
by  your  pleading — but  I  may  not.  Love,  love — it  is  buried  in 
that  one  grave  which  holds  the  bodies  of  the  two  dearest  to  me 
on  earth.  Dr.  Fawcett,  since  that  time  I  have  not  been  capable 
of  feeling.  Affection  I  gave  to  Muriel  Thornton,  and  to  the 
Bernard  children,  and  to  those  about  me — even  to  you,  because 


198  TEE   STRUGGLE. 

you  are  so  true,  and  so  good!  But  love!  I  am  cold — cold  to 
the  innermost  recesses  of  my  being !  " 

A  great  joy  swept  across  the  man's  dark  face  as  he  listened. 
His  shoulders  seemed  freed  from  a  heavy  burden. 

"  Oh,  that  is  it,"  he  said.    "  That !  " 

"  So  there  is  naught  to  keep  me  here,"  she  said.  "  You  will 
soon  forget.  And  I  am  going  to-day — this  very  afternoon,  if 
possible — " 

"I  shall  settle  the  time  and  the  place  for  you,"  he  said,  in 
a  quiet,  determined  tone. 

"You?"  asked  Xaviera,  in  surprise.  She  looked  at  him, 
proudly.  Then  her  heart  smote  her  at  her  own  unkindness.  "  Very 
well,  for  the  time  being,  you  may."  She  turned  to  leave  the 
room,  but  his  voice  arrested  her. 

"Xaviera — will  you —  I  have  something  else —  I  want  to 
tell  you—" 

"Yes?" 

"  Do  not  look  at  me  in  that  manner."  He  was  suddenly  em- 
barrassed. "  Child,  I—  It  is  about—" 

"  About—" 

«  Your  mother !  " 

The  girl  put  up  her  hands  with  the  gesture  he  had  seen  her 
use  once  before  that  morning.  The  words  stung  her. 

"  0  God !  "  she  said. 

"  She  is  still  alive,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett,  gently.    "  Xaviera — " 

"  I  can  not,"  she  said,  wringing  her  hands.  "  I  can  not — I 
dare  not.  I  who  asked  that  she  might  know  what  it  was  to  die 
alone — " 

"  She  will — unless  you  go  to  her,"  said  the  man.  "  It  is  only 
the  question  of  a  few  hours." 


THE   STRUGGLE.  199 

"  I)r.  Fawcett ! "  and  again  she  twisted  her  fingers  as  if  in 
torture.  "  You  know — you  have  seen —  It  is  not  right  to  ask  me. 
Care  for  her — you  must  care  for  her.  I  can  not,  oh,  I  can  not. 
There  is  nothing  in  my  breast  but  aversion,  horror— there  is  no 
affection.  I  am  afraid  of  the  fire  in  my  own  bosom— do  not  fan 
it  into  flame.  It  will  consume  me.  I  am  not  cruel — I  am  not 
wicked.  But  I  shall  be  both  if  you  insist.  Do  not,  do  not.  See, 
I  am  only  Xaviera  Pomeroy,  the  musician,  who  is  alone  in  the 
world,  whose  mother  died  when  she  was  very  young — oh,  so  very 
young,  and  who  lies  buried  in  Italian  soil.  Do  not  ask  her — " 

"  Death  is  standing  at  her  side — death  in  its  foulest  form — 
death  of  body  and  of  soul." 

Xaviera  shuddered. 

"I  said  that  your  coming  here  was  God's  answer  to  Muriel 
Thornton's  life  of  prayer.  Had  you  not  come,  Allison  Frayer 
would  not  have  come — he  would  not  have  been  here  to  send  for  the 
woman  whom  he  thought  would  sting  your  proud  soul  to  despera- 
tion. And  had  he  not  sent  for  her  she  would  not  now  be  locked 
in  the  unconsciousness  that  precedes  death — from  which,  if  you 
can  rouse  her,  will  come  the  salvation  of  her  immortal  soul — the 
soul  that  Muriel  Thornton  begged  of  Heaven  so  long.  She  awaits 
the  hospitality  of  your  roof — she  is  lying  at  your  door.  For 
Magdalen  Pomeroy  will  not  permit  her  to  enter  there  until  you, 
Xaviera,  say  the  word.  Xaviera,  give  your  consent — I  am  waiting 
for  it.  She  is  your  mother — for  years  that  poor  old  soul  lying 
in  the  clasp  of  death  this  day  wept  and  prayed  for  her  erring 
child.  God  is  waiting  for  the  yielding  of  your  heart,  Xaviera — " 
*  *  *  *  * 

As  they  bore  that  figure  up  the  stairs,  and  laid  it  on  Xaviera's 
own  white  bed,  the  most  hardened  man  among  them  could  not 


KX)  THE   STRUGGLE. 

but  look  upon  it  with  eyes  of  pity.  The  whole  lower  part  of  the 
body  had  been  burned  to  a  crisp — the  beautiful  golden  hair  was 
a  black,  unlovely  mass.  Even  the  face  had  not  been  spared, 
nothing  but  the  mouth  that  had  mocked  at  the  girl  who  was 
her  daughter — and  which  was  drawn  into  dreadful  lines  of 
pain. 

"It  would  be  well  if  she  could  die  without  regaining  her 
senses/'  said  Dr.  Fawcett,  pityingly,  "  if  it  were  not  for  that  soul 
of  hers.  You  will  remember  that,  Miss  Winifred  ?  " 

"  We  will  remember  that,"  said  Magdalen  Pomeroy. 

She  looked  very  much  shaken  in  the  morning  light,  but  there 
was  a  steadfast  gleam  in  the  sunken  eyes,  and  a  quiet  curve  to 
her  mouth  that  it  had  not  known  in  many  restless  years. 

So  he  left  Magdalen  and  Winifred  to  take  care  of  the  suf- 
ferer and  went  downstairs.  He  stood  beside  Xaviera,  who  was 
gazing  out  into  the  street,  her  arms  folded  across  her  breast,  her 
forehead  pressed  against  the  pane.  If  she  heard  him  enter  she 
gave  no  sign. 

"  Xaviera !  "  he  said.    «  Xaviera  1 " 

She  did  not  move. 

"  Xaviera !  "    His  voice  lingered  on  the  name  lovingly. 

She  unlocked  her  arms  then,  and  turned  toward  him.  Her 
face  was  burning. 

"  Oh,  stay  1 "  she  said,  beseechingly,  for  her  strength  was  gone. 
"  Stay,  stay  with  me." 

"  I  can  not,"  he  answered.  "  There  are  too  many  waiting  for 
me — too  many  who  need  me.  Besides —  You  are  going?" 

She  shuddered. 

"  No,  no — not  now." 

"  Yon  will  stay— » 


THE   STRUGGLE.  201 

"Until  it  is  ended,"  she  finished,  drearily.  "It  is  the  last 
of  the  chapter.  I  must  read  the  closing  words.* 

"  And  they  will  be  in  characters  of  gold.    Muriel  Thornton — " 

"  It  was  the  thought  of  Muriel  Thornton — for  Muriel  Thorn- 
ton's sake !  "  She  could  not  continue.  Then :  "  I  am  wicked, 
wicked,  wicked ! " 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "  In  after  years  you  will  re- 
member this  with  gratitude  and  joy.  It  will  be  a  memory  you 
would  not  relinquish  for  any  other — that  Muriel  Thornton's  spirit 
lived  in  you  long  enough  to  save  that  erring  soul." 

"  Save  it  ?  "    She  smiled.    He  leaned  over  her. 

"  Xaviera,"  he  said,  impressively.    "  God  lives.    He  will 
you  what  you  are  to  do," 


202  TEE   BATING  OF,  PAMELA  DANBT. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE  SAVING   OF  PAMELA  DANBY. 

IT  was  an  awful  day. 

The  hours  dragged  by  on  leaden  feet.  Magdalen  and  Winifred 
sat  beside  the  dying  woman,  striving  in  every  way  possible  to  ease 
the  agony  from  which  she  suffered.  They  could  do  but  little,  for 
all  their  solicitude.  Once  she  did  become  conscious,  looked  with 
dread  eyes  of  pain  into  both  their  faces,  and  relapsed  again  into 
a  comatose  state. 

Xaviera  had  not  been  able  to  take  a  moment's  rest.  With 
Father  Powers  beside  her  she  had  gone  up  to  the  room  that  held 
the  woman  who  was  her  mother — venturing  into  it  with  timid 
steps.  Father  Powers  knew  her  own  sore  need  of  comfort,  and 
his  heart  ached  for  her.  She  leaned  against  the  wall,  her  eyes 
riveted  upon  the  face  that  had  once  been  so  lovely.  So  she  stood 
all  that  long  afternoon,  with  folded  hands.  What  sins  had  not 
that  woman  taken  upon  herself?  What  wickedness  had  she  not 
committed  ?  If  she  could  but  realize  their  enormity  long  enough 
to  repent  of  them,  to  throw  herself  in  spirit  at  the  feet  of  that 
merciful  Saviour  who  had  died  for  love  of  her.  If,  if,  if !  What 
grace,  what  mighty  grace  was  necessary  to  move  that  estranged 
heart? 

Winifred  sat  reading  aloud  the  prayers  for  the  dying,  Mag- 
dalen with  bowed  head,  listening,  and  the  girl  stared  at  them 
both,  as  if  fascinated.  Were  these  petitions  strong  enough  to 


THE   SAVING  OF.  PAMELA  DANBY.  308 

reach  the  heart  of  God — to  touch  Him  for  this  woman  who  had 
despised  Him  ever  and  always,  who  had  shirked  her  noblest  re- 
sponsibilities ?  And  then  she  remembered  Muriel  Thornton. 

"  It  will  not  last  long  now — it  can  not,"  said  Magdalen  Pom- 
eroy. 

"You  still  here,  daughter?"  It  was  Father  Powers.  He 
touched  her  arm.  "  You  are  exhausting  your  strength  unneces- 
sarily." 

Xaviera  stared  at  him. 

"  She  will  die,  I  am  afraid,  without  ever  coming  back,"  he 
said.  Then,  under  his  breath,  "  Oh,  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  see  a 
soul  slipping  away  like  this — and  such  a  soul !  " 

A  thought,  so  bright,  so  wonderful,  came  to  Xaviera,  then, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  God  had  sent  it.  "He  lives,"  Dr.  Fawcett 
had  said.  "  He  will  show  you  what  you  are  to  do."  It  pierced 
the  clouds  about  her  brain,  it  roused  her  from  her  apathy.  She 
moved  from  her  position  against  the  wall,  turning  quickly  to  the 
corner  of  the  room.  Tearing  aside  a  little  curtain,  she  lifted  an 
object  from  behind  it.  They  stared  at  her,  thinking  her  mind 
was  wandering.  Unbuttoning  the  green  cloth  cover  she  let  it  fall 
away  from  the  polished  strings  of  the  harp  that  was  now  exposed 
for  the  first  time  in  many  months  to  other  eyes  than  her  very  own. 

"What  would  you  do?"  asked  Winifred,  fearfully.  "The 
woman  is  dying,  Xaviera,  dying.  Pray  for  her." 

"  I  shall,"  said  Xaviera.    "  I  shall  pray." 

She  ran  her  fingers  across  the  strings.  There  was  neither 
timidity  nor  hesitation  now — only  breadth  and  power.  Her  eyes 
kindled.  Into  her  cheeks  had  come  two  vivid  spots  of  scarlet. 

"  Help  me,  Frank,"  she  whispered.  "  She  is  our  mother." 
Softly  as  the  last  sigh  of  a  departing  spirit  the  melody  that  Dr. 


304  THE   SAVING    OF   PAMELA   DANBY. 

Faweett  had  evoked  from  the  violin,  trying  to  touch  Pamela 
Danby's  heart  through  her  one  passion,  music— the  dead  artist's 
wonderful  "  Message  " — filled  the  room.  "  It  had  been  too  sad-~ 
Frank  was  to  finish  it,"  Xaviera  had  said — but  she  played  it  now 
as  she  would  have  had  him  finish  it — the  childish  laughter,  the 
tenderness,  the  pain,  with  the  call  of  victory  at  the  end.  The 
pain  was  there,  but  after  a  while  it  died  away,  was  lost  in  the  in- 
creasing volume  of  sound.  It  was  like  the  voice  of  a  spirit,  bright, 
sweet,  pure,  insistent.  Human  misery  had  no  place  in  it,  nor 
human  complaining.  There  was  room  for  nothing  but  glory  of 
triumph — joy — heaven  itself. 

Her  fingers  fell  away,  her  body  stumbled  against  the  instru- 
ment— but  Magdalen  Pomeroy  caught  her  as  she  fell,  and  held 
her.  Winifred  sat  with  folded  hands,  closed  eyes.  She  had  for- 
gotten her  surroundings.  The  eyelids  of  the  dying  woman 
trembled.  Father  Powers  bent  over  her. 

"  She  is  conscious ;  thank  God,  thank  God ! "  burst  from  his 
parted  lips.  He  held  a  crucifix  before  her.  "Look  upon  your 
Saviour !  Ask  God  to  be  merciful !  Ask  Him  to  spare  you !  You 
repent — you  are  sorry.  '  0  my  God,  I  am  most  heartily  sorry — ' " 

"  0 — my — God — "  her  lips  moved  faintly.  "  I  am  sorry.  For 
— all — my — sins — " 

He  finished  the  act  of  contrition  with  her,  the  tears  stream- 
ing down  his  face.  His  hands  moved  above  her  in  absolution. 

"  Mercy !  "  said  the  dying  woman. 

"  My  dear  child,  yes,"  said  Father  Powers.  "  Think  upon 
His  love—" 

"  Mercy !  "  she  implored  again,  in  a  voice  of  anguish.  "  Jesus ! 
Have  mercy  on  my  soul !  " 

Winifred  was  on  her  knees,  praying  aloud.    Magdalen  stood 


THS   8A7INQ   OF   PAMELA   DANB7.  906 

as  if  carved  in  stone,  with  Xaviera's  unconscious  form  in  her 
clasp. 

"  It  is  over,"  said  Magdalen,  then. 

Father  Powers  looked  at  the  white  and  senseless  face  of  the 
girl. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  Not  yet.  The  worst  may  still 
he  to  come/' 

***** 

And  for  a  while,  they,  who  had  grown  to  care  for  Xaviera  in 
her  banishment,  thought  that  the  worst  had  come.  She  wts 
dragged  back  from  the  door  of  death  by  their  efforts.  And  there 
were  many  of  them.  Mrs.  Browne  and  Phyllis  and  Constance 
Waverly — "  who  could  do  little  but  pray/'  she  averred,  with  tear- 
wet  eyes.  Aunt  Magdalen  guarded  her  jealously,  and  Aunt  Wini- 
fred wore  herself  out — which  was  Aunt  Winifred's  patient  way. 
Dr.  Fawcett — well,  hers  was  the  dearest  life  in  the  world  to  him, 
dearer  than  his  own,  by  far.  He  won,  at  last.  But  it  was  a 
struggle. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  been  allowed  to  see  any  of  her 
friends — her  first  day  downstairs.  Phyllis  Gordon,  sparkling  and 
happy,  sat  holding  her  thin  hand  in  affectionate  clasp. 

"  You  will  soon  get  your  strength  back,  now  that  you  can  move 
about  at  all,"  she  was  saying.  "Is  is  so  good  to  see  you  up, 
Xaviera.  And  I—" 

"What  of  you?" 

"  I  shall  be  in  New  York  in  six  weeks'  time." 

"  You !  "  Xaviera  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  You  are  going 
to  your  aunt — " 

"Aunt  Isabel?"  Phyllis  laughed  contentedly.  "  Oh,  no.  I 
am  going  to  my  own  home  this  time.  Dick  couldn't  stand  it  any 


206  THE   SAVING   OF   PAMELA   DANBY. 

longer — and  when  he  read  that  Segrovia  had  been  almost  burned 
to  the  ground — well,  he  realized  how  much  he  eared,  then.  It  wag 
a  lie,"  she  went  on,  confidently,  "they  saying  that  he  was  en- 
gaged to  Sylvia.  He  wasn't  engaged  at  all — until  now." 

And  she  blushed  prettily.  Xaviera  looked  at  her  with  a 
pleased  smile. 

"  Happy  at  last !  "  she  said.  "  For  an  unromantic,  prosaic, 
money-loving  little  shepherdess,  you  have  been  very,  very  true  to 
your  Strephon,  dear.  He  is  a  fortunate  swain." 

"  Oh,  he  has  enough  money,"  declared  Phyllis.  "  That  is  one 
thing  to  be  grateful  for.  I  could  have  forgotten  in  time — but  it 
was  hard." 

"  You  would  have  taken  him  were  he  as  poor  as  poverty,"  said 
Xaviera.  "  I  suppose  all  the  others  were  merely  substitutes,  then, 
to  appease  the  real  heart-hunger?  " 

"  Material — rough  material,"  laughed  Phyllis. 

"And  Dr.  Fawcett— " 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Fawcett !  You  haven't  seen  Dick !  There  never 
was  any  one  like  Dick,  never,  never !  And  you'll  say  so  when  you 
see  him.  May  he  come  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  May  who  come  to-morrow  ?  "  put  in  an  earnest  voice.  "  My 
patient's  first  day  downstairs,  and  already —  What,  Miss  Phyllis 
— you  want  to  bring  in  that  stalwart  chap  I've  seen  you  parad- 
ing with  about  the  village?  No,  no — Xaviera  shall  not  take 
any  such  risks.  And  if  I  am  not  mistaken  he's  at  the  end  of 
the  street  now,  lounging  up  against  a  post  with  the  most  discon- 
solate—" 

"  Good-by,  Xaviera,"  said  Phyllis,  bending  to  kiss  her  friend. 
"You  might  as  well  confess  the  truth,"  she  said,  audaciously  to 
the  grave-faced  doctor.  "  Madam  Butterfly  is  in  the 


THE   SAVING   OF   PAMELA   DANBY.  207 

Xaviera  leaned  her  dark  head  against  the  back  of  the  chair, 
tired,  but  smiling. 

"  You  can  be  proud  of  the  transformation  you've  affected  in 
that  soulless  little  gadabout,"  said  Dr.  Fawcett,  in  his  brusk 
manner.  "  It  is  all  your  doing,  Miss  Pomeroy." 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you,"  she  said.  "  Waiting  for  you 
all  day." 

"  Yes  ?  "  He  had  been  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  care- 
lessly. Now  he  stopped,  contemplating  the  back  of  her  head. 
"Why?" 

"  When  may  I  travel  ?    To-morrow  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  ?  "  He  laughed.  "  No,  nor  to-morrow,  nor  to- 
morrow, nor  the  morrow  after  that." 

"  What !  "  she  exclaimed.    "  But  you  do  not  mean  it." 

"You  are  in  no  condition  to  travel — you  are  aware  of  that 
much,  at  any  rate." 

"  Not  far,"  she  protested.    "  Just  to  leave  Segrovia." 

"  Just  to  leave  your  friends,"  he  said,  bitterly. 

"No,"  she  made  answer.  "No.  I  shall  carry  my  friends 
with  me — in  the  heart  that  came  to  me  the  day  my  mother  died. 
It  is  a  very  meek  heart  now,  Dr.  Fawcett." 

"  That  remains  to  be  proven." 

The  answer  was  not  encouraging. 

"  I  have  a  request  to  make,"  she  began,  hesitatingly.  "  Eliza- 
beth—" 

"  Has  been  with  me  since  Danny's  death.  I  intend  to  keep 
her  with  me  until  you  want  her,  Xaviera." 

"  I  shall  not  want  her — she  will  be  better  off  with  you,"  said 
Xaviera.  She  turned  her  head,  trying  to  see  his  face.  "There 
is  one  other  thing — " 


108  THE   SAVING   OF  PAMELA   DANB7. 

"  I  was  to  decide  the  place,  you  remember  ?  "  said  Dr.  Fawcett, 
steadily.  "I  rather  thought  that  stubborn  heart — which  has 
grown  so  wondrous  meek! — would  not  yield  the  point  so  easily. 
So  I  have  written  to  a  dear  old  friend  of  mine.  She  lives  on  the 
road  to  Bayardstown — not  very  far  away,  but  her  house  stands 
alone  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  and  you  will  find  all  the  solitude  you 
need.  She  is  a  quiet  woman,  who  has  had  much  sorrow,  and  you 
need  never  speak  to  her,  or  even  see  her,  unless  you  wish  it.  Does 
this  please  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  why  you  are  so  good  to  me,  I  do  not  know- 
why,"  she  said.  "  I  feel  unhappy  now  that  I  must  make  another 
request — for  your  own  sake,  this  time." 

"  And  that  is—" 

"You  must  not  come — while  I  am  there."  She  spoke  in  a 
low  tone  that  trembled  despite  her  effort  at  calm,  and  her  eyes 
were  troubled. 

His  face  grew  pale. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  not  cross  your 
path.  You  know  what  my  feelings  are  regarding  you."  His 
chest  heaved,  his  nostrils  dilated.  "  Well,  so  be  it.  Under  no 
circumstances  shall  I  seek  you  ever,  unless — " 

What  made  him  so  confident,  so  proud?  There  was  a  power 
about  this  man  that  Xaviera  had  failed  to  reckon  with — a  power 
that  overwhelmed  her.  He  looked  into  her  eyes.  She  had  seen 
that  look  once  before — the  night  on  which  he  had  played  her 
brother's  masterpiece,  and  then,  turning  to  her,  had  sought  to 
penetrate  the  secrets  of  her  soul.  She  was  frightened  at  the  tor- 
rent of  feeling  that  swept  over  her. 

And  he,  rising  almost  triumphantly,  left  the  room. 


THE   SAVING   Of  PAMELA   DANB7.  800 

Mrs.  Clarke-Richmond's  rambling  old  mansion,  built  in  the 
Colonial  style,  was  truly  a  beautiful  home,  and  the  lady  herself 
such  a  chatelain  as  one  would  scarcely  expect  to  find  in  so  lonely 
and  cloistered  a  habitation.  At  first,  Xaviera's  longing  for  soli- 
tude served  her  well.  During  those  long  autumn  days  she  got 
close  to  the  heart  of  Mother  Nature — who  offers  so  much  to 
weary  brains  and  aching  souls.  Some  days  passed  in  which  she 
saw  her  hostess  only  at  meals.  She  had  known  her  own  require- 
ments better  than  any  other,  and  gradually,  in  this  atmosphere, 
she  recovered  her  mental  equipoise. 

After  a  while,  as  the  weeks  sped  on,  and  the  days  grew  shorter, 
and  darkness  fell  so  very  early  on  the  quiet  country  she  had  grown 
to  love,  she  found  that  Mrs.  Clarke-Richmond  was  an  educated 
and  a  lovable  woman,  and  that  she  could  sit  for  hours  poring  over 
the  volumes  with  which  her  library  was  stocked,  without  opening 
her  lips.  This  appealed  to  Xaviera.  And  from  this  sympathy 
and  mutual  love  of  reading  there  sprang  a  sweeter  and  deeper 
sentiment — so  that  now  they  were  glad  to  see  each  other,  ex- 
changing opinions  that  were  but  the  open  sesame  to  more  com- 
plete knowledge  of  character. 

"I  have  often  wondered  why  a  woman  of  your  culture  can 
bear  to  stay  here  alone,"  said  Xaviera.  She  was  sitting  in  the 
library  as  usual,  and  they  had  been  discussing  one  of  Dickens' 
Christmas  stories. 

"And  you?" 

"  I — have  always  been  different  to  other  women." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  and  Mrs.  Richmond  smiled.  "  There  is  a  nat- 
ural longing,  when  deep  sorrow  touches  you,  to  get  away  from 
people." 

"  Yes,"  said  Xaviera. 


210  THE   SAVING   OF  PAMELA.  DANB7. 

"I  was  once  the  gayest  woman  ever  came  from  England  to 
this  free  country  of  yours.  It  is  only  a  short  story,  dear.  I  was 
beloved,  I  married — and  one  died.  That  is  all." 

"Enough,"  said  the  girl,  sententiously.  "That  is  eaough. 
How  strange  the  lives  of  most  of  us  are.  And  yet  we  read  fiction 
and  wonder  and  wonder  and  cry  out  at  the  unreality  of  it.  There 
were  three  of  us — and  two  died,"  she  added  simply.  It  was  the 
nearest  approach  to  confidence  that  had  ever  passed  between  them. 

"  Two  died !    But  not  your  husband." 

"No,  my  father,  my  brother,  whom  I  loved,"  said  Xaviera. 
"Both." 

"Ah,  well!" 

The  girl  leaned  forward. 

"  Listen,"  she  said.  "  You  tell  me  you  are  English — an  Eng- 
lishwoman. Did  you  ever  hear  of  Lord  Allison  Frayer  ?  " 

"  So  you  know  Lord  Allison  Frayer  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"He  is  Lady  Anne  Frayer's  son — and  Anne  Frayer,  Ms 
mother,  was  my  sister." 

"  Then  this  is  the  house  on  the  hill ! "  Xaviera  sat  back  sud- 
denly. A  smile  stole  across  her  face — a  smile  in  recognition  of 
and  in  resignation  to  the  sense  of  her  own  helplessness  in  the 
hands  of  the  Power  that  controlled  her  life  and  actions.  "  He  has 
been  here,  then  ?  " 

"  Once.  He  was  on  his  way  to  the  mountains  for  the  shooting 
— with  a  friend,  or  to  a  friend — I  can  not  remember  which." 

"  I  knew  the  house — when  first  I  came  to  stay  with  you.  Last 
year  on  my  way  to  Segrovia  the  train  was  delayed — boulders  had 
fallen  on  the  track.  I  came  up  the  path — I  looked  in  at  your 
window.  I  saw  Lord  Allison  Frayer." 


THS  BAYING  OF  PAMELA  DANBY.         8U 

"You  do  not  like  him?" 

"  I  am  indifferent/'  said  Xaviera.  "  Now,"  she  added,  as  an 
after  thought. 

They  said  no  more.  Mrs.  Eichmond  went  back  to  her  book, 
but  Xaviera  could  not  read.  How  much  or  how  little  the  older 
woman  knew  of  her  story  did  not  affect  her.  She  was  simply 
wondering  to  herself  at  the  strange  way  in  which  all  the  threads 
were  lifted,  one  by  one,  and  woven  into  the  web  that  made  her 
life.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Richmond  took  up  a  note  from  the  table 
in  front  of  her. 

"  I  forgot  to  mention  to  you  that  I  had  received  a  letter  from 
Dr.  Fawcett,"  she  said.  "  I  admire  that  man  very  much — and  it 
will  be  the  first  time  he  has  ever  failed  to  visit  me  at  Christmas. 
Here  he  writes,  -without  a  line  of  excuse,  that  he  will  not  be  able 
to  come  this  year."  She  was  distinctly  aggrieved. 

"Did  Dr.  Fawcett  know  that  Lord — Frayer  was  your  rela- 
tive ?  "  asked  Xaviera.  Her  face  flushed. 

"  Dr.  Fawcett — I  do  not  believe  I  ever  mentioned  his  name. 
Why  ?  Do  you  think  it  would  interest  Dr.  Tawcett  ?  " 

Xaviera  had  no  chance  to  reply.  A  servant  came  along  the 
hall. 

*  A  gentleman  to  see  Miss  Pomeroy." 

The  girl  rose  hurriedly.  It  was  Dr.  Fawcett  surely!  And 
she  was  glad,  glad !  He  had  come,  then,  and  he  wished  to  see  her 
first — to  see  her  first — before  his  old  friend!  A  happy  light 
sprang  to  her  face.  Yes,  she  was  glad  that  he  had  come,  and  she 
would  tell  him  so. 

The  man  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  door.  At  the 
rustling  of  her  garments  he  turned.  She  gave  a  low  cry — it  was 
Allison  Frayer. 


212  THS   SAVING   OF  PAMELA  DANB7. 

"  You !  "  she  said.  "  You !  "  The  disappointment  made  her 
voice  tremble.  "  How  did  you  find  your  way  ?  " 

"  It  is  no  use,  Xaviera,"  he  said.  "  I  must  come  to  you — I 
can  not  stay  away."  His  tones  were  low,  hopeless. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Xaviera.  "  You  must  have  had  a  trying 
journey  from  Segrovia  here.  Traveling  at  this  time  is  none  too 
pleasant." 

"  I  did  not  mind,"  he  said.  "  I  came  back  to  Segrovia  three 
months  ago — no  one  would  tell  me  anything  about  you.  Only 
by  chance  I  heard  from  little  Elizabeth.  You  know  who  Mrs. 
Clarke-Eichmond  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Xaviera. 

"I  thought  that  I  would  make  one  last  effort — so  that  we 
might  part  friends." 

"  Of  what  use  ?  "  asked  Xaviera,  in  an  expressionless  voice. 
"  Of  what  use  ?  "  she  repeated,  looking  at  him  with  eyes  of  cold 
displeasure. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  You  shall  not  look  at  me  in  that  way.  I 
do  not  intend  to  renew  the  past.  But  I  would  ask  you  to  give 
me  the  memory  of  one  happy  hour  to  carry  away  with  me  before 
I  go  out  of  your  life  forever.  When  you  will  you  can  entertain. 
You  dislike  me — you  have  had  cause  to  hate  me.  Put  dislike 
and  hatred  aside.  Try  to  imagine  that  you  have  forgiven  me." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Xaviera,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  will  call  Mrs. 
Eichmond  now.  After  that — " 

On  the  whole  they  spent  an  enjoyable  evening,  for  Xaviera 
endeavored  to  comply  with  her  visitor's  strange  request.  Mrs. 
Eichmond,  ever  courteous,  and  glad— outwardly  at  least — to  see 
her  kinsman,  seconded  Xaviera's  efforts.  She  successfully  con- 
cealed her  surprise  at  the  oddness  of  this  unexpected  visit. 


THE   SAVING   OF   PAMELA   DAXBY.  213 

"  I  shall  have  to  say  good-by  with  my  good-night/'  said  Allison 
Frayer.  "  I  never  expect  to  see  America  again — and  it  was  but 
natural  I  should  want  to  call  on  you  for  one  last,  long  conversa- 
tion ere  I  left."  He  bowed  courteously  to  Mrs.  Eichmond  as  he 
spoke.  "  We  are  almost  strangers — yet  we  can  not  set  aside  the 
claims  of  kinship." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Eichmond — but  her  glance  followed  his 
eyes — which  turned  to  Xaviera,  as  if  he  could  not  see  enough 
of  the  pale  face  that  was  so  soon  to  be  beyond  the  range  of 
his  vision  forever.  And  when  the  older  woman  left  the  room 
— for  the  evening  wore  away  rapidly — he  still  sat  gazing  at 
her. 

"  When  I  see  you  in  that  black  gown  you  seem  to  me  like  an 
abbess  or  a  nun — so  holy  are  you.  A  light  seems  shining  on  your 
forehead.  Xaviera,  I  shall  always  remember  you  as  you  are  now — 
in  that  black  dress  with  the  cross  upon  your  bosom." 

Xaviera  touched  the  cross — then  raised  her  face  to  his. 

"  Do  you  recollect  what  that  diamond  cross  commemorates  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  My  brother  Frank  gave  it  to  me — a  gift 
on  the  occasion  of  our  betrothal." 

"  Our  betrothal !    Great  God,  Xaviera  !    Which  I  broke ! " 

"  Which  you  broke." 

He  clenched  his  hands.  Words  trembled  on  his  tongue.  But 
she  looked  at  him  proudly  as  of  old. 

"I  have  treated  you  fairly  well  for  one  to  whom  I  owe  so 
little,"  she  said.  "  Therefore,  do  not  forget  your  promise.  You 
shall  not  speak  fo  me  again  in  that  way.  I  will  not  tolerate  it." 

"  Good-night,  Xaviera." 

*  Good-night,  Lord  Frayer." 


*14         THE  SAVING  OF  PAMELA  DANBT. 

"Andgood-by." 

"  Good-by — I  hope.  It  will  be  better  for  yon  a  thousand  times. 
You  were  unwise  to  come." 

"  No/'  he  said.  "  No  matter  where  the  way  leads  now  I  have 
deserved  the  pain.  Good-by,  Xaviera." 

*  *     .  *  *  * 

"  With  the  cross  upon  my  breast,"  said  Xaviera.  And  she 
smiled — the  tremulous,  faint,  sweet  smile  of  dawning  joy.  "  The 
cross  upon  my  breast — and  the  crown  of  a  good  man's  love  in  my 
heart  I  Forever  and  forever  1 " 


THE    WAY   THAT   LED    BEYOND.  215 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE  WAY  THAT  LED  BEYOND. 

"  AND  this      Christmas  Eve !  " 

"  And  this  is  Christmas  Eve !  " 

Xaviera  echoed  the  words.  She  had  been  waiting  for  her  kind 
friend  to  come  down  from  her  room — and  now  Mrs.  Eichmond 
entered  with  a  bundle  of  mail  in  her  hands,  and  these  words  upon 
her  lips. 

"  Letters,  letters,  letters  I  "  she  said.  "  Such  letters !  William 
scarcely  finds  so  much  treasure  at  the  post  office.  Letters  from 
your  aunts  and  from  New  York,  and  from — " 

"  From — "    Xaviera  bent  forward  eagerly. 

"A  letter  from  Dr.  Fawcett — for  me,"  said  Mrs.  Eichmond. 

The  light  died  out  of  Xaviera's  face.  "  For  you  ?  "  she  fal- 
tered. 

"  You  expected  one  ?  "    Her  friend  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"  He  has  been  so  kind — I  thought — " 

Mrs.  Richmond  glanced  at  her  keenly. 

"  I  had  rather  he  came  than  wrote  to  me — or  sent  me  any 
gift/"  she  said  then.  "  He  knows  how  I  count  on  seeing  him  thii 
day.  I  am  much  annoyed." 

Xaviera's  lips  quivered. 

"It  is  I  who  have  kept  him  away,"  she  stammered.    "It  is 
my  fault." 

Mrs.  Eichmond  put  her  arm  around  the  girl. 


216  THE   WAT    THAT   LED    BEYOND. 

"Edgar  Fawcett  loves  you— is  that  it?" 

"He  did,"  said  Xaviera,  in  a  low  voice. 

«  And— you?" 

"  Not— at  that  time." 

"But— now?" 

No  answer. 

"  Would  it  not  be  well  to  make  a  little  sacrifice  for  his  sake  ? 
There  are  times  when  pride — " 

"I  wrote  to  him  a  week  ago.    After  Lord  Frayer  left." 

" Telling  him  to  come?  " 

"  Yes.  That  you  expected  him.  That  I,  also,  would  be  glad. 
I  do  not  know  what  I  wrote." 

"  It  is  not  your  will,  then,  that  keeps  him  away  ?  " 

"No,  no,  it  is  his  own." 

"  He  will  come,"  said  Mrs.  Richmond,  confidently.  "  He  will 
come.  Do  you  know,  Xaviera,  that  lately  you  have  been  very 
much  more  natural — more  human,  if  one  can  use  that  word  in 
connection  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  much  happier,"  said  Xaviera.  "  Perhaps  it  is  because 
the  necessity  for  self-repression  no  longer  exists." 

"  That  is  it,"  said  Mrs.  Richmond.  "  At  first  I  was  afraid  to 
leave  you  so  much  alone — you  stole  about  so  quietly  and  so 
silently  and  with  such  a  queer  expression  in  your  eyes.  But  all 
that  is  past  now,"  she  said,  "and  this  is  Christmas-time.  We 
have  no  room  for  sadness  because  of  the  very  joy  of  this  holy 

season." 

***** 

Magdalen  Pomeroy  had  written  to  her  niece. 
It  had  taken  her  old  fingers  a  long  time  to  pen  the  words. 
She  had  hesitated  often,  Xaviera  could  see  as  she  read  them,  but 


THE   WAT   THAT   LED    BEYOND.  817 

the  story  of  the  past  was  put  before  her — the  story  she  had 
not  cared  to  hear  at  the  time  she  left  Segrovia.  And  now,  of  her 
own  free  will,  her  aunt  cleared  up  the  mystery  that  had  so  per- 
plexed and  annoyed  her.  And  simply  told,  it  made  a  simple  tale. 

"I  was  much  older  than  Frank — fully  fifteen  years,  and  a 
mother  to  the  lad  always,"  said  the  letter.  "  I  had  meant  to  do 
many  things  in  the  world,  but  when,  in  dying,  my  mother  gave 
him  to  my  keeping,  my  whole  life  changed. 

"I  offered  him  to  God. 

"  How  carefully  I  watched  his  footsteps  I  think  you  are  aware 
— for  he  himself  has  told  you  of  it.  But  it  was  always  with  one 
end  in  view,  and  that  end  the  altar. 

"  Frank  must  be  a  priest. 

"  How  this  notion  came  to  me  I  do  not  know.  It  was  a  wicked 
notion,  that  I  see — who  was  I  that  would  dare  to  control  a  man's 
whole  life?  At  first  I  prayed  that  it  might  be.  But  I  was  not 
humble  enough.  Afterward,  losing  sight  of  God's  will  in  the 
matter,  the  desire  became  fixed — immovable.  The  mere  possi- 
bility that  the  child  would  not  adopt  that  vocation  never  struck 
me.  The  longing  became  part  of  me. 

"I  made  few  friends — you  are  like  me  there,  Xaviera.  But 
Muriel  Wilson  was  the  dearest — the  only  one.  I  might  as  well  con- 
fess that  William  Thornton  was  my  lover — not  alone  at  the  time 
when  I,  a  girl  of  seventeen,  took  charge  of  Frank,  but  afterward. 
Until  I  told  him  I  would  never  marry — never.  Then  he  left  me. 
I  loved  him,  Xaviera,  I  loved  him.  But  I  loved  Frank  more. 
And  Winifred,  too,  was  but  a  child.  .  .  . 

"  Muriel  Wilson  left  Segrovia.  He  went  also.  Four  years 
later  she  wrote,  telling  me  that  she  and  William  Thornton  were 


218  THE   WAY   THAT   LSD    BEYOND. 

promised.  My  heart  ached  a  little.  That  was  natural.  But  I 
was  rather  glad  than  otherwise.  I  loved  him,  and  I  loved  her. 

"But  I  loved  Frank  more.    .    .    . 

"  We  corresponded  regularly.  She  was  very  happy.  One 
daughter  was  born  to  her — then  William  Thornton  died.  I  sent 
Frank  to  college;  he  was  clever,  talented,  a  genius,  they  wrote  me. 
Muriel's  life  grew  harder.  The  girl  gave  her  a  great  deal  of 
trouble.  A  born  mimic,  an  exquisite  singer.  Some  one  had  told 
her  to  go  in  training  for  the  stage.  The  mother's  heart  was  sore. 

"I  wrote  to  Muriel,  telling  her  to  come  back  to  Segrovia, 
away  from  the  city  and  its  temptations.  Here,  where  things 
were  quieter  and  life  ran  smoothly,  and  where  she  would  be  among 
her  old  friends  and  those  who  loved  her. 

"  Well,  she  came.  She  came,  and  brought  her  daughter  with 
her. 

*  Child,  you  have  seen  Pamela  Danby,  as  she  called  herself, 
and  you  know  how  beautiful  she  was.  Think  what  her  loveliness 
must  have  been  at  sixteen,  in  the  first  dawn  of  girlhood.  I,  who 
seldom  cared  to  look  a  second  time  at  a  woman,  was  dumbfounded 
that  first  glance  I  had  of  her.  The  poor  mother  could  do  nothing. 
She  idolized  the  girl.  She  could  not  control  her,  for  her  slightest 
wish  was  law.  Often  and  often  I  advised  Muriel  against  letting 
her  have  so  much  of  her  headstrong  way.  No  use. 

"  Then  my  boy  came  home — my  boy — my  pride. 

"  I  see  the  wickedness  of  it  now.  He  did  not  want  the  life  I 
had  planned  for  him,  ever.  If  I  had  let  him  be.  But  no.  I 
must  talk  and  talk  of  the  future.  And  supposing  that  for  my 
sake,  he  had  done  as  I  wished,  Xaviera.  I  see  with  clearer  eyes 
now.  God  has  been  merciful. 

"But  the  worst  happened,  then,  according  to  my  perverted 


THE   WAY   THAT   LED   BEYOND.  219 

vision.  Frank  and  Muriel  loved  each  other.  He  met  her  all  that 
summer.  I  saw  nothing.  No  one  told  me.  I  was  too  confident. 
I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing. 

"Afterward — I  blamed  my  friend.  You  shall  hear.  She 
must  have  been  aware.  .  .  . 

"  One  morning  I  found  Frank's  letter  on  the  table  in  my 
room — a  letter  telling  me  that  he  and  Muriel  had  left  Segrovia 
the  night  before,  intending  to  go  directly  to  Bayardstown  and 
get  married.  I  shall  never  forget  that  morning,  Xaviera.  I 
laughed  at  the  joke — laughed  until  I  cried,  and  then  went  about 
the  house,  calling  to  my  darling,  telling  him  what  a  mad  prank  it 
was — this  that  he  was  playing  on  his  sister,  threatening  to  scold 
him  well  for  his  nonsense. 

"No  answer  came,  Xaviera.  No  answer  ever  came.  I  have 
never  seen  him  since — never. 

"  I  got  afraid  after  awhile.  I  thought  I  would  go  to  Muriel, 
to  tell  her  what  an  escapade  Frank  was  planning  to  frighten  me. 
I  found  her  coming  to  meet  me. 

"  She  told  me  the  truth,  then.  She  told  me  of  the  friendship 
existing  between  the  boy  and  girl.  But  she  had  never  expected 
that  there  would  be  anything  serious  come  of  it.  The  girl  was  so 
young.  Such  a  child.  And  the  end  was — this ! 

"Blind,  foolish,  mad,  I  had  been  indeed!  Mad  and  foolish 
and  blind !  I  blamed  her  for  it  all.  I  laid  the  frustration  of  my 
hopes  upon  her  shoulders,  crashing  her  to  the  earth.  I  said  bitter 
things,  cruel  things,  and  she  bore  them  meekly,  for  she  was 
ever  patient  and  forbearing.  First  my  lover,  and  now  my  more 
than  child,  she  had  taken  from  me !  I  told  her  that  until  the  day 
I  died  I  would  never  cross  her  threshold,  never  willingly  look 
upon  her  face.  I  told  her  that  she  was  to  hold  herself  accountable 


220  THE   WA.7   THAT  LED   BE70ND. 

for  all    I  put  it  all  upon  her.    I  told  her  that  if  my  boy's  soul 
were  lost  it  would  be  through  her. 

"  She  looked  at  me,  Xaviera,  with  the  same  look  in  her  patient 
eyes  that  I  saw  in  them  the  night  she  died.  I  shall  never  forget 
it.  And  when  I  had  finished  venting  my  rage,  she  bowed  her  head, 
the  tears  streaming  down  her  face.  Did  I  care,  think  you,  that 
her  own  heart  was  sore  for  the  ungrateful  girl  who  had  left  her 
without  one  word  of  farewell?  Not  I. 

"Xaviera,  it  is  not  well  to  give  way  to  such  thoughts  as 
burned  in  my  soul  then.  God  punished  me  my  lifetime  for  them. 
I  would  not  submit.  I  defied  fate.  I  defied  God  Himself.  I  bade 
God  leave  me,  since  He  had  taken  all  hope  away  from  me ! 

"  Oh,  you  know  how  bitter  I  was.  It  lasted  all  these  weary, 
weary  years — and  each  year  saw  me  worse  instead  of  better.  I 
had  thrust  all  holy  things  back  into  the  past.  The  girl  who  had 
used  my  boy  as  a  stepping-stone  to  the  life  she  craved,  cast  him 
off  when  it  best  suited  her.  He  wrote  to  me,  telling  me  of  his 
children,  now  worse  than  motherless.  I  think  I  was  glad,  then, 
glad.  And  yet  I  longed  to  see  him.  Alas,  alas,  alas !  What  would 
I  say  when  our  mother  asked  his  soul  of  me  ? 

***** 

"Long  afterward  you  came.  You  were  quiet  and  still  and 
calm.  But  you  opened  all  the  wound.  You  had  your  mother's 
carriage,  for  all  your  likeness  to  myself,  and  her  voice,  her  in- 
tonation. Xaviera,  I  hated  you  and  I  loved  you.  I  was  torn  be- 
tween affection  and  repulsion. 

"  Then  I  found  out  you  visited  Muriel. 

"The  crowning  bitterness!  What  has  happened  since  that 
time  you  know.  Muriel's  death,  and  your  mother's — and  I  am 
left.  Alone !  You  would  not  stay,  Xaviera,  you  would  not  stay — 


THE   WAT   THAT   LED   BE70ND.  381 

because  I  was  so  cruel,  so  cruel,  so  cruel !  Can  you  not  forgive 
me?  Speak  the  words  of  forgiveness  to  me  this  Christmas-time, 
and  I  think  I  shall  know  the  meaning  of  joy  again. 

"  Do  not  let  me  weary  you.  I  drove  you  away  from  us  by  my 
miserable  passion.  Come  back,  if  only  for  one  hour.  To  one  who 
loves  you  for  your  father's  sake,  and  for  your  own,  with  all  the 
strength  left  her.  I  am  lonely,  Xaviera." 

The  tears  were  standing  in  Xaviera's  eyes  as  she  finished. 
***** 

Night  had  settled  upon  Segrovia  when  the  train  reached  the 
station,  and  Xaviera  was  glad,  for  the  most  unaccountable  ex- 
citement seized  her.  Nor  was  it  her  anticipated  meeting  with 
Aunt  Magdalen  that  sent  the  blood  racing  through  her  veins  as 
she  walked  along  the  old,  familiar  street,  along  the  old,  familiar 
path. 

She  need  not  pass  his  house  to  reach  Aunt  Magdalen's — there 
was  a  shorter  cut,  and  for  a  moment  pride  stood  at  her  elbow, 
urging  her  to  avoid  him  until  he  sought  her.  But  she  set  her 
teeth.  Deliberately  and  resolutely,  then,  she  chose  the  path  that 
led  along  the  upper  street.  Her  steps  dragged  as  she  came  near 
the  house  she  knew  so  well — she  scarcely  had  courage  to  pass  it, 
although  the  gate  was  closed,  and  only  a  faint  streak  of  light 
seemed  to  pierce  through  the  shuttered  windows.  Her  breath 
left  her.  With  shaking  knees  she  put  out  her  hand  and  clutched 
at  the  fence  to  steady  herself,  a  feeling  of  shame  surging  through 
her  whole  body. 

And  then,  though  she  had  not  heard  him  nor  seen  his  approach, 
he  stood  before  her.  With  sudden  fright  she  strove  to  pass  him. 

"You  want  Dr.  Fawcett?"  asked  those  well-remembered 
tones. 


*38  THE   WAT   THAT   LSD   BEYOND. 

Silence  reigned  about  them.  She  could  hear  her  heart  throb- 
bing. The  moonlight,  striking  on  the  dazzling  snow,  fell,  too, 
with  radiant  kisses  upon  the  cross  that  shone  upon  her  bosom. 

With  an  inarticulate  cry  he  bent  over  her. 

"  Xaviera !  "  he  said.  "  Xaviera  ?  "  in  such  a  questioning,  be- 
seeching voice  that  she  raised  her  face  to  his. 

"  I  am  here,"  she  said. 

He  put  his  arms  about  her. 

"  We  meet  sooner  than  I  anticipated,"  he  said.  "  For  I  meant 
to  hold  you  so  this  night  if  I  had  to  walk  the  distance  from  Se- 
grovia  to  Bayardstown.  You  came  to  me — of — your — own — free — 
will." 

"  No,"  she  said,  huskily.    "  Not  of  my  own  free  will." 

"  What  then  ?  Whatever  brought  you  I  shall  bless  the  moment 
that  gave  you  to  me." 

"  Your  will,"  she  murmured.  "  I  am  no  longer  strong  as  when 
you  knew  me  first." 

"  Xaviera,  you  love  me  then  ?  "  He  spoke  almost  exultantly. 
"You  love  me?" 

"  On  my  breast  the  cross,  and  in  my  heart  the  crown  of  a  good 
man's  love,"  she  whispered.  "  Oh,  I  do,  I  do !  The  perilous  way 
beyond  was  the  way  that  led  me  to  you — " 

"Beyond,  upward,  ever  onward — into  the  light  of  peace  and 
joy  forever,"  he  said.  "  Thank  God." 


PRINTED  BY  BENZIGER  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


A    000  110824 


